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JUNE, 1875. 


. Life ^d Speeches of the Prince Oonsort : Court of Queen Yictoria. By Etonenaia 1 

- Religion and Politics in Franco. By M. ^lilsand 25 

Xotes of an Indian Joamey. By M. E. Grant Dnff, M.P. IL . . • . 44 

- The Uniyersities and the Nation. By the Hon. George Brodrick . . 6:t 

• Mohammed and Mohammedanism. By the Rev. Georgo Percy Bidgcr, D.C.L. . 87 

The Opera. By James Sally 103 

Ought we to Ghey the Now Court? By the Rot. Orby Shipley .... 123 

' Coiot and Millet. By J. Comyns Carr 157 

The Poor Lawflb By Lonl Lyttelton , 1C9 

JULY, 1875. 

Is the Church of England worth Preserving ? By the Right Hon. W. E. Gladstone 198 

The Echo of the Antipodes. ByW. R.Greg 221 

• A New Theory of the Homeric Question. By Professor Goddes .... 234 
The Beginning of the Co-operativo Trouble. By Greorge Jacob Holy cake . . 269 
Wind Myths. By 0. F. Keary 281 

• The Tory Party and the Catholics. By Pope Hennessy . • . . . .290 

Notes of an Indian Joumoy. By M. E. Grant Duff, M.P. HI 311 

Review of Objections to " Literature and Dogma." By Matthew Arnold. VI. . 32G 

On Animal Instinct, in its relation to the Mind of Man. By the Doke of Argyll . 352 

AUGUST, 1875. 

" Supernatural Religion.'' By Professor Lightfoot. V. Papias of Hierapolls . 377 
The Advance Noto. NMiat it is, and Why it ought to bo Abolished. By Thomas 

Brassey, M.P 404 

• The Roman Catholic Marriage Laws : from a Roman Catholic Point of View. By 

Canon Todd 412 

Saxon Studies. By Julian Hawthorne. VI. Tyj^s Civil and Uncivil . . .430 

The Public Accounts. By F. W. Rowsell 447 

• Carlo Cattaneo. By Jessie Wliite Mario 405 

Institutions and their Inmates. By H. L. Synnot 487 

The Liberal Party and the Roman Catholics. By Arthur Arnold .... 505 

Notes of an Indian Journey. By M. E. Grant Duff, M.P. rv^ , 5U 




The Right Uf3 of a Surplus; or, Remission of Taxes an Abnse of Revenue. By 

W. R. Grog :M 

Ocean Circulation. By Dr. W. B. Cai-ponter 565 

Notes of an Indian Journey. By M. E. Grant Duff, MP. V 590 

- Professor Hnxley*s Hypothesis that Animals are Automata. By Lord Blachford . ^\K 

• The Poor-Law: a Propowd for its Abolition. By tho Rov. W. Walter JIdwards . 081) 
On tho Scientific Basis of Morals : A Disoussion — I. By Professor ClifTord ; II. By 

P. C. W. ; in. By Frodoric Harrison G50 

Beyiew of Objeotions to '* Literature and Dogma.'' By Matthew Arnold, Conclusion C7G 

(OCTOBER, 1875. 

Notes on Contemporary Questions By the lato Bishop Thirlwall. I. Church 
Parties ; II. Ecclesiastical Vestments ; III. Heaven ; lY. Ought we to Obey 
the New Court ? V. The Eucharistic Controversy ; VI. The Diyisions in tho 

Church 703 

The Etruscans. By Alexander S. JIurray 71 G 

On Certain Proposed Changes in International Law. By W. E. Hall . . . 735 

West Indian Superstitions. By Charles J. Branch 758 

The Historical View of Miracles. By James Gairdner 775 

Notes of an Indian Journey. By M. E. Grant Duff, M.P. VI. .... 785 

The Italian Answer to tho European Church Question. By Alex. Taylor Innes . 809 
<* Supernatural Religion.*' By Professor Lightfoot. ^T Papios of Hierapolis 

(Continued) 828 

XO\nEMBER, 1875. 

India: Political and Social. By M. eI Grant Duff, M.P 857 

The Last Attompt to Reform tho Church of Rome from Within. By the Rev. 

Richaid F. Littledale, D.C.L 887 

Saxon Switzerhintl. By Julian Hawthorne « 908 

Likenesses ; or Philosophical Anatomy. By Professor St. George Mivart . 938 

Modem Ballads. By H. G. Hewlett 958 

Bad Literature for the Young. By Alexander Strahan 981 

The ReligiouB and Ct>nservative Asj^ects of Positivism. By Frederic Harrinou. I. 092 




liHRns. VHhPonaJiMK 

I. TUEarlt Ymrin/ ll.ltjf.ili 
isul«r tile illrwtloii uf her 
Oen. Um Sub. O. Okkt. 

3, Tht Principal SpeK/XM oi 

', WIIhuilDtrodDBUuD. LodA 

THE day, which announced tliroughout the land the death of 
the Prince Consort, was a day of universal gloom. The heart 
of the nation was touched by the Buddenness, with which indis- 
potdtion had assumed the face of danger, and interest had grown 
into alarm ; and there was a prescient observation, at an early stage 
of the illuess, that the constitution of the illustrious patient did not 
Kevm to offer that stout resistance to the advances of disease 
which his favourable age and his tall, manly, well-proportioned 
form would have seemed to insure. The purity of his life, the ui- 
tegritj' of liis ciuiracter, his varied talents and accomplishments, and 
tht* active share in public undertakings so often and so judiciously 
amiuiied, had gradually acquired for bi'm a strong and deep hold 
upon the estcL'ni of the British people. But the depth of that 
itytnpatliy and sorrow, which accompanied the catastrophe, was 
probably a tribute to the sorrow of the Queen in a yet greater 
(legree than to the signal merits of her husband. It was felt, by a 
juHt histinct, that love and loss conjointly had perhaps never, 
oniidft iJl llie varieties of life, been raised to so high a pitch : 
Ibftt uo woman had ever leant more fondly, and no queen had 
i-ver liftd so much cause to lean. The weight was doubled ; while 
tlie Blrength was halved, and the joy and comfort gone. Accord- 
ingly, there was a real and genuine desire of the whole people to 
be partners in her great aifliction, in no conventional or secondary 
Nvnse, but by tnily bearing a portion of it along with her. Nor 


was this the case only in the highest circles ; on the contrary, the 
sentiment deepened, as it widened, with every step downwards 
from class to class^ and to the very base of society. To the same 
mixed feeling, with the same dominant reference to the Sovereign, 
may have been partly due the remarkable midtipUcation in all quar- 
tera of the local memorials, which by degrees covered the land. With 
respect to the most conspicuous of these, the gorgeous structure near 
the western extremity of Hyde Park, it may perhaps be said that its 
extraordinary magnitude of scale, and sumptuousness of execution, 
may in future days be deemed to assert a greater superiority to 
other mortals, on behalf of the Prince Consort, than even liis pure 
and lofty reputation can be expected to sustain. In any case, we 
may say of him with truth what the greatest ItaUan poet of this 
centurj^ Giacomo Leopardi, has said of Dante — 

lo 80 ben 

Che saldi men che cera, e men ch* areaa, 
Verso la fama che di te lasciasti, 
Son bronzi e marmi.* 

Happily we have sure memorials of his mind, and faithful 
chroniclers of his history ; and it may be confidently expected, 
while it must be ardently desired, that not only our own time, but 
future generations also, may continue to prize the recollection of 
a life lifted far above the ordinary level of princely existence, and 
not only meritorious, but even typical for nations and men^ at 

Before taking notice of the work of Mr. Martin, we must briefly 
refer to the two other offerings of loyal commemoration, which were 
already before the world. 

In 1867, General Grey compiled, under the direction of her 
Majesty, a memoir of " The Early Years of the Prince Consort," 
from 1819, tlie year of his birth, to the birth of the Princess Royal, 
in 1840. Originally prepared for private circulation, it was after- 
wards given to the public ; and the intended prosecution of the 
work was announced in the closing sentence of the volume. But, 
no long time afterwards, the hand of the wiiter was cold in death. 
The work of General Grey was even more commimicative, threw 
even more Ught upon the personal histories and the domestic 
interior, than the later biography. He had been chosen to dis- 
charge a labour of love, implying, on the part of his Sovereign, 
the highest confidence. Never was that confidence better 

* Rudely and slightly rendered in the following lines : — 

Matched with the fame 
Of thy g^at name, 
Bronse is bat wax, 

And marble sand. 
To baffle Time's attackn 
And stealthy hand. 
From G. Leopard!, Sc^i-a if monumento di Dante che sipreparava in Firenze, 


deserved. Besides possessing the other qualities needed for his 
important functions, he was a man loyal with no common loyalty ; 
and his long standing at the Court gave him the power, which 
yomiger men cannot be expected equally to possess, of acting in 
all points the part of a faithfol friend. The *' fierce light that 
beats upon a throne" is sometimes, like the heat of that famace in 
which only Daniel could walk unscathed, too fierce for those whose 
place it is to stand in its vicinity. The incidents of a Court retain, 
down to our day, their fascination, and we are old-fashioned 
enough to hope it may not soon be lost; yot it can hardly be 
denied that it is girt about with a relaxing atmosphere, and that a 
manful constitutioaa, or adequate Tefreshmont from otiier sources, 
is required in' order to secure a robust health, in mind and 
character, to its favoured residents. Had the bodily health of 
Geneml Grey been equal to his mental soundness and manly truth- 
fulness of stamp, he would still have been among us,, mth many 
coming years of usefulness to reckon. 

A more recent, but not less loyal or judicious, r^l^iion to the 
throne, was that of Sir Arthur Helps, whose death we have been 
called, within the last few months, to mourn. So early as in 1862, 
he had been chosen to edit the Speeches of the Prince ; and ke 
had prefixed to them a fnost able and most discriminating intro- 
duction, only second in interest to the Speeches tlicmaelvcs, which 
were eagerly and extensively read by the nation, and wliich un- 
questionably have that in them which ought not to die. 

It was much that, after the removal by death of these two 
admirable servants of the Crown, lier Majesty should be able to 
select, for the definitive execution of a task hithei*to only 
attempted in fragments, a biographer of such higli qualifications 
as Mr. Martin. He has brought to tlic execution of a task neces- 
sarilv arduous the same fine hand and accurate discernment with 
which he had previously rendered the image of some of the best 
Latin poets, in the guise of happy and elegant English transla- 
tions. It is, however, unnecessary for us, writing many montlis 
after the appearance of the work, to repeat in detail the praises 
wliich have been justly, and more promptly, awarded to Mr. Martin 
already by authoritative and respected organs of tlie periodical 
press.* We have only to wish, that he may continue as lie lias 
begun. Perhaps we should add the expression of a hope that the 
nature of Ins subject matter may not again impose upon him any 
such necessity of entering largely into the dctiiil of foreign poUcy 
as he encountered in the painful case of the Spanish marriages. 
Even the valuable documents and the authentic history he has here 
furnished want something of the charm of a biograpliy. But the 
interest of the Royal portrait, which it has been Mr. Martin's duty 

* Quarterly Remew for January, 1857, pp. 108—110. 


4 THE CONTm£PORAKy mviEw. 

to draw, is one not to be exhausted with the run of a succese 
woik. The study oud contemplation of the man will remain perma- 
nently fmitful of tJie most improving leaaous to e^jery learner in the 
Bchcol of humuM nature. The whole action of "the Prince, in ita 
manifold I'ektionR bolli to EngUeh society and.^o the constitution 
of the coimtiy, stiU forma a fiubjcct of deep interest to a!! wlio are 
interested either in free instituliona generally, or in the peculiar 
form of them under which we hve. And the araoTUit of calamity 
we have suffered by his death has, perhaps, not even yet been 
fully apprehended. 

It is not our intention to enter largely into the narrative of a 
life of which the general features are so well and widely known ; 
especially as we cannot doubt that Mr, Maitin's work will in no 
long period obtain access to a wider circle of readers, through 
republication in a popular form, than is permitted by its present 
size and price. But we sliall carefully select our points of refer- 
ence. And there is one anecdote of the Prince's cliildhood, 
recorded by Coimt Arthur MensdorfT, wluch exhibits in very early 
times the base, so to speak, of his character. 

"One day, when we children, Albert, Ernest, Ferdinand, Augustus, 
Alexander, myself, and a few other boys, were playing at the Rosenau, and 
some of UH were to storm the old mined tower on the side of the ca«tle, 
which tbo others were to defend, one of ua suggested that there was a 
place at the back by which we could get iu wthout being seen, and thus 
capture it withont difficulty. Albert declared 'that this would \<q most 
unbecoming in a Saxon knight, who should always attack the enemy in 
front,' And so we fought for the tower, so honestly and vigorausly, that 
Albert, by mistake, for I was on his side, gave me a blow ujwn the uo^, 
of which I still bear the mark. I need not say Iiow sorry he was for the 
wound he had given me."" 

The boy was fatJier of the man ; and from the high standard 
which he had thus early, and thus earnestly, presented to himself, 
he never deviated. He was also Iiappy, beyond almost all other 
men, in the aids which he received. Hi« education seems to have 
been conducted with all the care, the steady dii-cctiou of means to 
an end, the determination to tiun all miiida and all faculties to 
the very best account, which distiuguishcB the Germans beyond 
any people of Europe. It seeius as though there were no disturb- 
ing element of waste in their moral and intellectual world ; and 
this extraorduiary and noble thrift early became a governing 
principle, and a great power, in the life ()f the Prince Consort. 

But heliad higher advantages even than those of a cartful and 
elaborate training, in the constant and afiectionate attention of 
two men, each in himself remarkable, and both devoted in an 
extraordinary measure to his welfare, aa well as to that of the 
Queen, with whom in a long vista of anticipation we are told that 

• Jlr. JUrtin, f, 7 ; Qenenil Grey, p. 37. 


his destiny waa^abnoBt from the veiy first coDjoined (Martin, p. 14). 
They -were^fceitf Uiot only of great gifts, but singularly adapted for 
their work- of wa^enship. ^ , 

,-One of them T^King Leopold, of Saxe^^Soburg by birth, of 
Belgium by a hap|Ty selection and adoption. This Sovereign 
must imdoubtedly be reckoned among the great statesmen of the 
nineteenth century. As a monarch, he gave a Jiving example of 
all the lessons which are to be learned from the free institutions of 
the world, and some part of which, at* feast, he may have originally 
gained from his association with, and residence in, England. 
CSalled to the throne under circumstances more menacing than 
those of his neighbour and father-in-law, Louis Philippe, he lived 
in prosperity and died in honour, while the heir of the more 
splendid lot closed his days in obscurity and in exile ; and it may 
not be an unrectsonable opinion that, had France been governed 
from 1830 onwards with the enlightened frankness of King 
Leopold, the Orleans dynasty might still be on the throne, and 
Alsace and Lorraine still might bear the insignia of France ; 

"' Troja qae nunc stares, Priamique arx alta maneres." 

The column of the Place Venddme would not be in ruins, nor the 
Hotel de Yille in ashes. 

Married in early Hfe to Princess Charlotte of England, he stood 
in the line of s^ccession to the very same position which his 
nephew. Prince Albert, was afterwards to hold. By the early death 
of that Princess, which was so deeply and, as is now known in 
the Ught of later disclosures, so deservedly lamented, the cup was 
dashed from his Kps. But, without doubt, the exact reproduction 
of the same situation for others so near and dear to him in the next 
generation must have heightened in his mind that interest in their 
well-being, which his relationship of itself could not but inspire, 
and which the early death of the Duke of Kent (in 1820) gave him 
an appropriate opportunity of bringing into action with reference 
to the Princess Victoria. 

One of his great acts of tutelaiy friendship was to bring upon 
the scene Baron Stockmar, a person who was to contribute as 
directly, and perhaps with a yet larger effect, to the safe and 
happy direction of the Prince's Ufe. Copious memoirs* of the 
Baron were printed three or four years back by his son, in German, 
and were translated into English. But, notwithstanding their near 
association .^vith persons and matters so interesting to the nation, 
they did not take any extended hold of the public mind. The 
abnost idolizing ardour of liKal affection in the author of the 
book, failed to redeem a number of errors in point of taste and 

* Memoirs of Baron Stockmar. By hifl son, Baron E. von Stockmar. Translated 
Inmi the Oerman by O. A. ^L Longmans, 1872. 


propriety. Fortunately tlie cbaracter of tliepttrson oommeiiiorated' 
was HO liigl), sa to survive and sumioiint tlie iujudicioiie aud 
obtrusive comnieiuo ration. In the pages of Mr. Alartiii, Bal^ii 
Stoekniar appeare in bis just place aud relatiou, which of coniw is 
not thftt of tJie Olympian ZeiiB of modern Europe. Of great and 
ijultivated gifts, he was a inau absolutely disinterested, not merely 
in the aenae of aupeiioiity to pecuniary inducement, but in tlie 
puwer of -casting (as it were) hiinBelf out of Imuaolf, so as to 
attain a complete Identification with those on whose behulf he 
iidviaed or acted, for all the purpoeee to which the advice or action 
might helung. To a foarlosB iudepeuderice he added, as Mr. 
Martin truly eays, a penetrating judgment of men aud things 
(p. 15). aiul oil imsliauBtiWe fund of devotion. Eminently oos- 
raopohtan in the frumework of lus niiud, ho was free from national 
limitations; and was able botli to appreciate for himacli", and to 
instil into another in a remarkable degree, the true character of 
the British Constitution, a product of our insular soil which is not 
only without a parallel, but in its subtler parts almost without 
analogy elsewhere. It is commonly seen, by even the most in- 
telligent of fnreigner8,a8 pictures are seen in gaslight, with a strong 
projection of their more glaring colours, and a total, or at best 
voiy fierions, loss of their more delicate, cool, ti'aiisparertt fihiidows 
and graduating touches. From 1810 to 1831, the Baron had been 
reffldent in England as tlie private secretary of Prince Iicopold, 
and tlie comptroller of his hfiusehold. He had also acted as the 
organ and represent at ivo of the Prince in the difficult ncgotiationH 
which followed his acceptancii of the Belgian ci-owu, and which 
were well qualified, as may bo seen by tlie readera of titu rec«nb 
*■ Life of Lord Pahnerstou," to exercise and develop the capacity 
of any man foi- statcumnnHliip. Retiiing to Cobnrg iu 1834, he 
obeyed in 183l> a new call of King Leopold for bis aid, and became 
a main agent in tlie happy and wise conspiracy, of which the King 
was probably tho first author, for disposing all circumstanccB 
towards the marriage of the young Prince Albert M-tth the future 
Queen of England, and for fitting hyn to adorn the exalted 
station. The succession of Princess Victoria had now no impedi- 
ment in itfl ^a^ ; and it was time to make preparation for 
mnnothing her arduous upward path with tho best nf all appli- 

Tho plan in view wag bold, but not more bold tbau wifli>. It 
evidently was to make apreparation ideally perfect, but yet to leave 
choice as entire and free, as if there had been no preparation what- 
ever. A golden halo of romance thas uivested the early life of these 
young and iUnstrious persons. The whole uarrotivc really recalls 
the most griiccful fictions of n-ise genii aud gentle fairies, besetting 
moi-tals -nitb blessings, and biosaing their fiites to bliss. It wosok 


where the hi^est skill combines with bounteous soil and. benefi- , 
cent climate to secure the golden harvest. There never can have 
been an instance in which public and domestic aims were more 
thoroughly harmonised ; though there have been so. many where , 
the hmnan hearts and lives of Royal persons have been as Ughtly 
sacrificed, as if they were creatures doomed to vivisection in. th^. 
interests of science or of curiosity. 

This comprehensive forethought has not failed to secure even 
a political reward. The palaces of England became, shrines o£. 
domestic happiness; and the Court exhibited to the jiation a.nd 
the world a pattern of personal conduct, in all the points most 
sHppeiy '^and dangerous for a wealthy country, with a large 
leisured class, in a luxurious. age. Idleness, was rebuked by the 
unwearied labours of the highest persons, in. the land; vulgar, 
ostentation grew pale, in the face of .a splendour everywhere, 
associated with duty, and measured by its ends ; impurity could . 
not hve in so . clear an atmosphere ; ev^n thrift had, its tribute. . 
of encouragement, where hospitalities truly regal and unwearied 
were so organized as not to put disdain upon the homely im- . 
attractive duty of .living within an. appointed income. All these 
personal excellences were seen .ajid appreciated by the public ;, 
and they contributed perhaps no less than wise ..legislation, and 
conduct inflexibly constitutional, to draw close the ties between, 
the people and the throne. . 

The culminating point of the interest, with which the Ufe of the 
Prince Consort regarded, is one at which it is really in-, 
separable from the associated life of the Queen.. They are ideally the 
obverse and reverse of the same medal ; nay, actually, the several 
moieties of the same whole. .And, thus considered, they .supply the 
one normal exhibition of a case in which the woman-ruler of a 
great empire, herself highly endowed both with . chamcter and 
inteUigence, has rested as it were on the backgi-ound of another 
consummately accompUshed existence, and has enjoyed the benefit 
of all its quaKties, and all its energies, as amply as if they had 
belonged to her own original store. Happy marriages, it may be 
thankfully acknowledged, are rather the rule among us than the 
exception ; but even among happy marriages this marriage was ex- 
ceptional, so nearly did the union of thought, heai-t, and action both 
fulfil the ideal, and make duality approach to the borders of iden- 
tity. Commonly the wife is to the husband, as the adjective is to the 
substantive. Undoubtedly the gieat faculties and comprehensive 
accomplishments of Prince Albert fully entitled liim to claim the . 
husband's place. But he exactly appreciated the demands of the 
throne upon its occupant, and the consequential demands of his 
wife upon himself. He saw that it was liis duty to Hve in, for, and 
through her, and he accepted with a marvellous accuracy of intel- 


loctual approlieusion, aud with an unswerving devotion of | 
heart, this peculiarly relative element in a splendid existence. 

On one occasion, at least, he was led to describe in words * 
own life-long function. In the year 1850, nearly at the poiut ot 
bisection of his married life, the Duke of Wellington strongly 
urged upon him that he should assume the office of Commander-in- 
Chief. In this recommendation we see at once one of the many 
instances of the Duke's euthuaiaBtic attachment to the Sovereign, 
and an undoubted indication of faculties tondiiig to decline with 
the lapse of years. The characters of the Queen and of the Prince 
stood so high, that the first anjiouncement of his acceptance of such 
an office might have g^ven pleasure. But everj- man acquainted 
with the spirit of parliamentary government must at once have 
seen it to be indefensible, and in a high degree inconvenient. It 
is, indeed, to be desired that a very close relation of sentiment 
between the Sovereign and the Army shoiUdbe permanently main- 
tained. But the Army is, after all, a great department of the 
State ; and departments of the State can only be administered in 
this country by persons responsible to Parliament. There are, 
indeed, some features in the office which recommend that its 
contact ^vith Parliament should be mediate, and not direct. The 
discipline of the Army is a subject so grave, so delicate, aud 
associated at such a multitude of points with the interests aud 
feelings of the governing class, that it should be as little as 
possible exposed to the influence of parliamentary pressure; a 
pressure much more apt to be exercised in the interest of class 
than in that of the public. The responsibility, therefore, of the 
Commander-in-Cliief is covered by that of the Secretary of State. 
But this protection is not exemption; and the authority of Parlia- 
ment is entire with respect to the mihtarj' as well as the official 
head. Now, the responsibility of pubhc officers in these days does 
not usually clotheitselfinthehard material forms of impeachments 
and attainders, as it did in other times. It ia sufficiently sustained 
and enforced, for the most part, through tlio immensely quickened 
action of opinion, and an inci-eased susceptibility to its influence. 
The ultima ratio with us is no longer fraught with peril to Ufe, 
liberty, or estate, but simply means removal from office. This 
power, however, is indispensable ; and the case of the Duke of 
Tork may serve to show that it is no mere phantom. But it iS' 
quite plain that no such power could have been exorcised, or 6"rt 
discussed, in reference to the husband of the Queen, withoTit afP 
ing the Throne ; to which he was so closely related, that whata 
injured the one must have brought the other more or 1«88 ^ 
question. Now. in such a matter, there should be no more a 
less. It follows that, whatever might have been the guantntl 
• Spoeelias, p. "C 


aflVir(i<>(l by hJs cliaroctcr fur wise and unimpeachable conduct, 
there was a radical and incurable fault iu the Duke's suggestion. 
Thv Prince could not fulfil tlie very first among the conditions 
of fitnesH fur tlie oiBce : he could not be removable. 

Yet, how ffroat was tliD temptation to an active mind, conscious 
of the capacity, and filk'd with the desire, to render service to the 
tmtiun, for once at least to suize the oppoi-tutnty of claiming to 
give that aervice in a form in which it woiild bring the valuable 
reward of a daily and palpable appreciation. The recommendation, 
thus attractive in itself, procei'ded from a statesman of fourscore, 
and frou] the nmn who, of all the land could boast, stood first 
in the public estimation. It might well have been mistaken for 
a safe proposal. We doubt whetlier a merely intellectual euperi- 
ority would have saved the Prince fiom this seiions danger — this 
Imp, tnid in iimocence by most friendly hands. But his intellectual 
superiority was backed by a noble power of moral self-denial. 
And BO he found his way to the heart and root of the matter. In 
a letter to the Duke, ho duBcribee the position of the "female 
Sovoreigii," and proceeds as follows : — 

"This pequiwa that the Inisbaiiii should entirely sink his own individual 
existeiice in tJiat of hU wife ; that be should aim at no power by himself 
ot fur blnisell: should shun all ostentation; assume no separate responsi- 
bility before the (tublic ; but make his position entirely a part of hers, fill 
itp erwr gap which, as a woman, she would naturally leave in the exercise 
of biT rugttl functions, continually and anxiously watch eveiy part of the 
|ici)iIIr Inuiine-oe. in order to be able to advise and assist Iier at any uioment, 
m any of the uiiiltifarioua and difficult questions or duties bruug'ht before 
her, sometimes international, sometimes poUtical, or social, or peraonal. 
As the natural head of her family, superintendent of her household, 
aaanager of her jirivate affairs, sole eottjidential adviser in politick, and 
ooly assiiftant In the conimuuicatious with the ofBcers of tlie Gox-emment; 
bo w, besides, the husband of the Queen, the tutor of the royal children, 
the |irivttfe secretary of the Sovereign, acd her permanent Minislor." 

In this admirably large description, we seem to find but one 
venial error of ii word. It is not in the epithet eonfidaitial ; for 
lliough this veiy phrase, by the usage of the constitution, belongs 
to the successive bodies of her advisers, it is manifestly apphcable 
with perfect propriety to the Prince, in a distinct, and in a 
much higher than tiie official sense. It is in the word Jlinister. 
Hiniator to the Queeu he could not be, because lus conduct was 
not within the reach and control of Parliament But, in fact, the 
word \a too weak to convey the character of the relation between 
\m mind and the mind of the Queen. He was to her, iu deed and 
truth, a second self. 

Much more, then, than a personal interest (liigh as in such 
a caw the personal interest is) attaches to this great example. 
On th>' Queen, as a M'oman, Mas laid a ma-rimitm of burden. 
The problem was to find for her a correspontUng marimum 


of relieving aid. The relation of the Prince to the Queen waff' 
wally an exppriniunt iii the ecicTice and art of polifics for the 
civilized "World. Its encceBS was complete : if it had failed, not 
England, but the (Hvilized world woiiid liave been the loser. For 
the part siietoinfcd by the Monarch, iu the eyetera of this e!(tended 
enifpire, still reinaine a great matter, and not u amall outs. 

T.'he weightj' busiuees of kingship has in modern timee lieen 
undergoing a subtle and silent, yet an almost entii-etraneformation ; 
and, m this cotmtry at least, the process has reached its maturity. 
Neither tlie nature nor the extent of this change appear as yet to 
have become faimliar to tho ordinary rnn of observere. The 
iMmft of the Queen waaetillthe sj-mbol, and her office the fountain, 
of all lawful powers ; royalty was seen and felt uraoi^g us, until the 
darkening shadow of widowhood fell npoii the auguflt head, hj 
the people of every rank and class, with mineual frequeuoy. aud 
in a splendour never Burpaesed by t^e habit of preceding Sove- 
peigns. iMaiiy, then, did uot advert to the fact that the character 
of the regal office had been altered ; while those, who believed in 
the change, for the most part believed that this great function 
was now emptied of ita force, and reduced to an illusion. Botii 
were ml^e in errors in an eiTor ^vhich it is not ea^" to correct by 
a summary description. ITie nearest approach to an account 
combining truth and brevity 'WouJd perhaps be found in the state- 
ment, tliat while in extent the change ban been, at least inwardly, 
nothing less than a tranefoiination. ita substance may chiefly be 
perceived iu a beneficial substitution of influence for power. 

Not tJiat even power is entirely gone. The wholo power of 
tJie State periodically returns into the Royal hande whenever a 
ministry is changed. This resiunpfion is usually brought about 
by forces distinct from the personal action of the Sovereign. Tlie 
day when George IV., in 1839, after a stniggle, renewed the 
Charter of the Administration of the day, and thereby submitted 
to the Roman Cafbolic Relief Act. may be held to denote the 
death of British kingsbip in its older sense, which had in a nieaeui-o 
survived the Revohition of 1088, and had even gained strength 
daring the reign of George HI. The endeavour of King Wil- 
liam IV,, in 183-i. to assert his personal choice in the appointment 
of a ministry without reference to tlie \vill of Parliament, gave to 
the Conservative party a momentaiy tenure of office without 
power. But, in truth, that indiscfeet proceeding of an honest and 
weU-meaning man produced a strong reaction in favour of the 
Liberals, and greatly prolonged the predominance, which they 
were on the point of losing tlirongh tin' play of natural causea. 
Laying too great a stress on the uifltmment of Royal will, it tended 
not to strengthen the throne, but to enfeeble it. Such was the 
npfihot of an injndicioua, though undoubtedly conscicntiouB use of 


power. The case was very different when the pressure, not of • 
Boyal willy but of ParHamentaiy difficulties^ brought about the 
first resignation of the Melbourne OoTemm^at in 1639, and what 
was called the Bedohambev queBtion arose. It was a question 
wheAer the ladies of the Courts who had been poHtioaUy ap-^ 
poii^ed,' ^ould or should not retire from office. The Queen, not 
yet twenty years old, but capable of conti*acting attachments at 
ODoe quick and durable, resisted the demand. There can be no 
doubt that if Sir Robert Peel had been allowed at that time to 
pioceed with his task^ the ministry he would then have formed 
would have been possessed of reasonable stability. But the powev 
of tiie youngi Sovereign, applied with a skilful^ use of opportunity, 
safioed to prolong the duration of the Liberal Government until 
tliOi summer of 1841, a period of nearly two and a half years. Its 
eserdse produced at the time nO' rermlsion in the public mind.' 
The &i8l judgment upon 4)he conduct of the parties to the crisis 
has bee& more fiivourable to the Minister than to the Monarch. 
Baron Stockmar himself has expressed this opinion. But the 
question involved, the claim of the woman in her early youth, 
was one of which within limits equity would have recom* 
mended the allowance. PosiAbly it was suspicion, the most obsti- 
nate among the besetting sins of politicians, even in men of upright 
nature, which interfered on the side of rigour. The justice of the 
ease has, we think, been expressed in the arrangement which has 
now long prevailed. The Mistress of the Robes, who is not 
periodically resident at the Court, but only an attendant on great 
occasions, changes with the ministry : the Ladies in AVaiting, who 
enjoy much more of personal contact by virtue of their office with 
the Sovereign, are appointed, and continue in their appointments, 
without regard to the political connections of their husbands. 

The record of the transaction, given in Hansard,* rests 
mainly upon two letters, one from the Queen, and the other from 
Sir Robert Peel ; and these two letters diflfer in their representation 
of the facts. The Queen, in her letter, mentions, and refuses, the 
proposal of Sir' Robert Peel " to remove the ladies of her Bed- 
chamber." Sir Robert Peel, in his answer, speaks only of his 
desire to remove a portion of them; and in the same letter 
declines to prosecute the task of foiining a ministiy. Hence it 
appears that he abandoned that undertaking to construct a 
Qovemment upon a decision of the Queen's, which is not the 
decision announced by her. She declined to i^emove tbcm as a 
body ; he resigns his charge, because he is not allowed to remove 
a few among them. It is veiy difficult to understand why he did 
not dispel, if only for his own sake, the misapprehension under 
whioh the Queen's letter may have been T\iitten. At present the 

* Vol. 3dvii. pp. 984, seqq. 



documentary evidence only b)iowh tliat lior Miijeflty refuBed an 
unreasonable demand ; and thnt lie rotired from liis high position 
becauBe he adhered to a demand which, whether iiecesBary or not, 
waa not unreasonable. If in truth tho matter turned upon her 
Majesty's reeistaiico to tliis narrower requeet, it is quito poaaible 
that it was an eri-or on the one side to press the request to 
extremity, and on the other to refnse it. Had it been upon the 
wider one, all wo\Ud surely have admitted tliat there waa full 
warrant for the refusal. 

We have dwelt upon the case, because it affords tlie most recent 
illustration of the successful exercise nf Itoyal power, and, on this 
account, bears a character of historical importance. The thirty-eis 
years, wliich have since elapsed, have been undisturbed even by 
a fdugle shock in tlio relations between tlie Sovereign and her 
Goverument, which has changed its head no Isbb than twelve times 
withoiiJ the slightest jolt or friction in the play of the machinery. 
But Talthough the admirable arrangements of tlie Cotistitution 
have now completely shielded tho Sovereign i'roni personal 
responsibility, they liave left ample scope for the exercise of a 
direct and personal influence in the whole work cif government. 
The amount of that iuflneuc-e must vary greatly, according 
to character, to capacity, to experience in affairs, to tact in 
the application of a pressure which never in to bo carried to 
extremes, to patience iu keeping up tho continuity of a multi- 
tudinoiis supervision, and, lastly, to close preseiiee at the seat of 
government ; for, in many of its neceesary operations, time is 
the most essential of all elements, and the most scarce. Subject 
to the range of these variations, the Sovereign, as compared with 
her Mininters, has, because she is the Sovereign, ^the advaulage« 
of long experience, wide survey, elevated position, and entwe 
disconnection from the bias of party. Further, personal and 
domestic relations with the mhng families abroad give opeuiuga, 
in delicate cases, for saying more, and saying it at once more 
gently and more eflScaciously, thau could be ventured in the more 
formal cpiTcspondence, and ruder contacts, of Governments. We 
learn from the volume of Mr. Martin, with how much tnitlifulness 
and deciMon, and with how much tact and delicacy, the Queen, 
aided by the Prince, took u piincipal part, on behalf of the nation, 
in the painful question of the Spanish niarriagea. Instances so 
very conspicuous as llns may be rare ; hut there is not a doubt 
that the aggregate of direct influence normally exercised by the 
Sovereign upon the counsels and proceeduigs of her Miiii^tera is 
considerable in amoimt. tends to pemmneiiee and solidity of 
action, and confers much benelit on thu country, without in tlie 
smallest degree jehe™jg tho odviwrs of the CrowTi fro: 
undiWded reHponsibility."^ 


But we doubt whether even this very important function of the 
Sovereign in watching, following, and canvassing policy, be not 
leSB important than the use which may be made of the vast moral 
and social influence attaching personally to the occupant of the 
throne. This is a power exercised upon the ordinary relations of 
Kfe, and greatly through the ceremonial and hospitalities of a Court. 
Little are they, who gaze from without upon long trains of 
q)lendid equipages rolling towards a palace, conscious of the 
meaning and the force that live in the forms of a Monarchy 
probably the most ancient, and certainly the most solid and the 
most revered, in all Europe. The acts, the wishes, the example, 
of the Sovereign in this country are a real power. An immense 
reverence, and a tender affection, wait upon the person of the one 
permanent and ever faithful guardian of the fimdamental con- 
ditions of the Constitution. She is the symbol of law; she is by 
law, and setting apart the metaphysics, and the abnormal incidents, 
of revolution, the source of power. Parliaments and ministries 
pass, but she abides in life-long duty ; and she is to them, as the 
oak in the forest is to the annual harvest in the field. When the 
august functions of the Crown are irradiated by intelligence and 
virtue, they are transformed into a higher dignity than words can 
fully convey, or Acts of ParUament can give; and traditional 
loyalty, with a generous people, acquires the force (as Mr. Burke 
says) of a passion, and the warmth of personal attachment. But 
by those to whom we are attached we are ready and prone to be, 
nay, we are already, influenced. 

This power, inherited with the place, will ever prove to have 
been husbanded and enlarged in strict proportion to the dis- 
charge of duty, and is independent of all personal contact, 
strictly so called, between Sovereign and subject. But the 
personal contact of the Sovereign with the subject, under favour- 
able circumstances, such as those which the Prince so greatly 
contributed to form, is of very considerable extent. We do not now 
speak of local visits, or special relations to a class such as the 
Army ; or of participation in the amusements of the people, as at 
theatres, or balls, or concerts. And yet these are not to be 
despised ; nay, it may be taken for granted, that the presence and 
interest of the Sovereign in these recreations tend to expel from 
them vulgarity, to reduce in many points the capricious excess 
of fashion, and generally to make their quality better than it 
would tend to become imder other auspices, by giving a distinct 
and high sanction to the efforts of those who are ever striving to 
raise tiie level (for example) of the musical and dramatic arts. 
But we must likewise take more particularly into view what is 
more strictly in the nature of personal contact. To come under 
the Poof of the Sovereign, to partake the hospitalities of the 


Sovtrt'jgti, to be admitted, even t'ov Diomeuts only, i(f thSf^^^^ 
verse of the Sovereign, «11 these in thtir different degrees con- 
stiUitc powers, and give scope for influence : for influonce, wbidi 
all thnt is good, ao well as somcthiug of what is bad, in Engli^ 
society tmids to enhauce. 'J'hcse things make their mark; and 
the mark is neimlly durable. 

With ufl, society is paHeiiig under many subtle, yet vital changes. 
It taust never bo forgotten, that wealth is now in Ea^and no 
longer the poasessioQ of a few, but rather what is termed "a drag." 
That is to say, it is difliised through a circle so much extended, 
und so fast extcndhig, that to be wealthy dooB not of itself satisfy; 
and the keenness of tlie unsatisfied demro. aspiring selfiddy not to 
BUpeiinrit)-, but rather to the marks of superiority, seeks them 
above all in the shape of what we toi-m social distinction. But 
the true test of the highest social distinction in this oountrj' is 
nearness to tlie Monarch: and all this avidity for access, for 
notice, for favour, expreenes an amount, of readijiess to oonfonn, to 
follo^v, to come under influence, which may often be indifferent 
enough iti iiuality, but is very large in quantity. 

But, qxute apart from these more questionable elements, it mnst 
be borne in mind that the society of tliis cojmtry is hierarchicallj' 
constituted. It ia not here, &% it was in tlie Coui-t of Louis 
Napoleon \ where there was as much, or more, of splendour and di*- 
piay. but wliere the influence exercised by personal contact termi- 
nated in those who were its immediate objects, because they were 
often the mere members of a clique, and wire-pullers of political 
intrigue, nexjii the natural, traditional, accepted hea^ and teacJiers 
of society. [At the Court of Queen Victoria, it- m ig -^gaftwme. 
WiwBtt wto came within the ihagic circle were persons, every one 
of whom was more or less himself a power : the heads of the 
profeesions, the leaders of Pai^iameut, the Patriarclis of letters, 
the chiefs of art, and, as was natnml and right, in larger meaeore 
than any i>ther class, the aristocracy of the land, tbemsslves 
hax-ing, in so many instances, the doiible title of inherited Rtation and 
highpoi-BonaldiKtinction. Eveu in dealiug with these distingitidied 
orders of men, a princiiile of selection was not forgotten; wul 
it became evident that, without invidious eoveranees. the Gonrtpro- 
ferred in evoiy class those who were tiie best iji that cIbsb; and 
leant to pftssiug by those less eligible. Thus tlie whole fnrco of 
loyal example and authority was given to good ; and given in the 
most eflScacioUs mauiier. The preferences of tlie Court' silently 
exliorted to right conduct all who were witJiin their rcadi. and 
strongly disoonntenanccd its opposite. Tliis was their oporatam 
nnthin the neciesearily limited class, to whioh alone close pei«onal 
intercourse (Wjtild by poasibility extend. 

But it WttBa verj- wnati part of tlieir whole opeisCion;' 


pUnetSy which wheel round the sun, many are themBelves wheeled 

TOimd by other and secondary stars. The Court touched in the 

strictest sense only the select men of the country;but of these every 

one was himself a centre of influence by example, by exertion, by 

mental activity, it might be by all combined; and each transmitted 

what he had derived, €U9 one billiard ball carries on the stroke to 

another, or as the circles widen on the water. Many readers mayfind 

something of paradox in what we are now spying ; but we venture 

to believe that it is because they have not taken occasion to make 

the subject a matter of careful study and observation. Among the 

things least under8ix>od and most sadly imder-estimated in the 

world are the force of example, and thQ silent influences of leader- 

flhipb In our social system, so marked by the dove-tailing of 

dassesi the quality of receptivity for these influences is raised to its 

Morymiin, and they pasa from the.sunmnt evten to the base. We do 

not hesitate to express a firm conviction that the Court 6{ Victoria 

was a sensible and important element in the group of f<>rcei^ which, 

for two or three decades of years, rai$ed in so beneficial a manner 

the social and moral tone of the uppdr classes of this country, I 

abhongh the upward movement they received has -of late years 

not been sustained, if, indeed, it has not for some time been 

ebbing. K this be true» then that Court was- ^ great fSact in i 

history ; if at least history is. to be a picture, and' not only a / 

sign-board. We may also say that its impeding exterior, its 

regular and memy-sided action, and its accurate and refined 

adjustments^ made it a work of art. Of all this the Prince was, 

and could not but be, the organizing and directing mig^ Amply 

charged with poKtical labour and its moral responsibilities, the 

Queen was thus provided with an appropriate reHef; and in one 

important sphere of action all things moved, for her, automatically. 

The quantity of what is expected from a Sovereign, in a state of 

society like ours, is double and quadruple of what the working 

force of a single mind and will can readily supply. By the Princess 

close imion with the Queen, and by his energy, his method, and 

his judgment, the motive power was at once doubled, while from 

the close harmony of the two, singleness of impulse and operation 

was fully maint€Lined. 

We have, in these pages, rather endeavoured to bring into view 
what we think to have been the less observed parts of the Prince's 
action, than dwelt upon such forms of his useful activity as are 
better known. Instinctively remote from ideology, he had an 
energetic tendency towards social improvement in every form, 
and herein especially towards those reformatory schemes which 
were calculated to bring into view new modes of coping with social 
mischief; as well as those which tended to raise the level of culture, 
and to refine common life by the habits and appliances of art. AVlien 



the Bubjects of hie cai-e and attention arc brought togetlier, " 
form ft whole ro formidable in aniomit, that the inind is stmckand 
almost ahocked at tlie Invish oxpenditure of brain-power which 
they miiet have required, amidst all the splendour which is readily 
mistaken for ea«ebythe careless beholder; and wonder becomes 
less, as pain becomes more, at that sapping and exhaustion of vital 
forces which probably made openings for disease, and prepared 
him to euccumb to it in the early maturity of hia manhood. 

But in tmth the form of fielf-saciifice practised by the Prince 
seems to be the prime, and perhaps the only, way in which, under 
the circumstances of modem times, the nobleness of the Royal 
character can be sustained. The changes, which have affected the 
position of sovereigns and their faiuihes among ua, are in many 
rejects fraught witJi moral danger, and with temptation in pecu- 
liar forms, not easily detected. Of old. the king had all his splen- 
doiirs and all his enjoyments weighted by the heavy cares, and very 
real and rude responsibilities, of goverameut ; and " uneasy lay the 
head that wore a crown." It was a tnitli as old as Troy, where 
other gods and warriors slept, but Zeus alone was wakeful.* Thnn 
it was that power, and luxury, and what is far more insidious, 
flattery, were then compensated and kept in check. In the 
British monarchy, the lodgment of the various parts of this great 
whole, making up a king's condition, is changed, and their moral 
equilibrium put in jeopardy. There, are still gathered the splen- 
dours, the enjoyments, all the notes of homage, all the eager 
obedience, the anticipation of \vi8be8, the surrender of adverse 
opinions, the true and loyal deference, and the deference which is 
factitious and conventional. To be served by all is dangei-ous; to 
be contradicted by none is worse. Taking into view the immenec 
increase in the appliances of material ease and luxury, tiie general 
result is, thatinthe private and domestic sphere a royal will ei^oya 
at this epoch, more nearly than in any past generation, the priYi- 
legcs of a kind of omnipotence. At the same time, the principal 
burden of care, and all responsibility for acts of administration, auij 
fortheetsteofthe country, is transferred to the head of others, and 
even the voice of the lightest criticism is rarely heard. In these 
circumstances it is tme that the duties of a Court entail in their 
fuQ scope a serious and irksome task, and that tberc must be 
much self-denial, and much merit, in their due discharge. But itia 
also in other duties, principally remote from the public eye, that the 
largest scope is afforded for the patient and watchful labour in 
pubUc affairs which, balancing effuctually mere splendour and en- 
joyment, secures the true nobleness of kingship against tlie subtle 
inroads of selfishuesa, and raises to their maximum at once the 
toil, the usefulness, and the influence of the British throne. 


Henrer. probably, xmAax any ciitmniHtances, be tliey favonmblt hs 
they may, ciui tUc^se rwit-h a higher point of elevation than thoy 
liad attaiood by the joint e&brta. and during the married lite, of 
the Qn«ea and the Prince. Nor can we well overvahie that addi- 
ticRi of masculine energy to female tact and truth, which brought 
Uia woridng of Briti^ Royalty bo near tho standard of ideas 

Wc proceed to some mattera more excluaively personal to tho 
Prince. A German by birth, he never lust the tftamp of Germany ; 
and the foreign mark upon liie exterior and manner, together with 
th« perpetual presence of a manifest endeavour to turn every man's 
4x>itTeraation. every man's partitnilar gift and knowledge, to account 
for his otpVu mental improvement, most laudable as it was, prevented 
bifl attaining that charm of ease in his intercourse with the world, 
whicb fa« is beheved to liave possessed in the circle of his family : 
and retarded tJie growth of his popularity among tlie wealthy and 
the gtvat, who are, and may, we fear, always remain, one of the 
most censorious among the several classes of society. 

Tiie precocity of the Prince seems to have been not less re- 
markable than his solidity'' and Iiis many-^dedness. In this respect, 
tndr«d, all Royal persons enjoy such advantages, through the 
elaborateness of their training, the devotion of those who sunoimd 
tbem, and their large opportunities of contact with the choicest 
minds, tliat almost in all cases they seem to exhibit a number of 
Uk sigUH of matiu4ty much earlier than do tliose iu tower station. 
What was specially noteworthy about the Prince was, that in hia 
precocity thcrt- was nothing 8ho^\'y, or superficial, or transitory. 
Tkoui^h he Imd haally urossod the threshold of manhood when he 
■rrivfd among wa, he gave no signs of crudity, never affected 
knowledge ho did not possess, never slackened in, and never con- 
cealed, tlmt anxiety to learn, which seemed to aceompanyas much 
his social leisure as his working hours. There seemed, agaui, to be 
DO bmnch of human knowledge, no subject of human interest, on 
vhieh he did not lay liis hand. 

Tliis early and mnltitiidiuousdevclopment, which received a share 
rfaanstttuce from the incidents of Royalty, and which iu him nature 
Mfremely favoured, however dazzhng and however real in the 
tdranlsges it siipplies, has likewise at least nue great drawback. It 
» Dot fevourahle to tho energetic couceutratioii without which tho 
knmon mind can hardly reach to greatness, and of which it is plain 
tli»t he was eminently capable. It is imppi^sible to say what 
jjrowth may liavo bt-en re8ei'\ed for the Princo during hia later 
jeore; but some of the most remarkable and complete among tho 
%ieeioho8 — which constituto, after all, Ms veiy beat memorial — 
helunff t« the earher portion of the volume : and it might bo difK- 
(mlt to iiNsign to tilt! later nn'iel^y of it any marked superiority eve.- 



the first. The circiunstances of hiB life may have thwarted the 
bias of nature ; but undoubtedly these SpeeclieH Beem to show the 
exerciae, in a veiy remarkable degree, of the throe combined 
facultiea of tereeneBs in expression, of concentrated attention, and 
of completenees of thouglit. 

At the age of thirty, in 1850, he dehvered a speech, which con- 
tains one of the best descriptions of the mind and charauter of 
Sir Robert Peel. This description js, among its other features, 
highly sympathetic. It betokens a real intimacy; and there is no 
other of the same stamp. lu truth, the character of PeeL in some 
intelleetual and many moral qualities, was not without pointed 
resemblance to Ida own.* His short speech at the meeting of the 
Corporation of the Sons of the Clergy, in m54, affords a remark- 
able example of handling at once succinct and exhaiiative.t The 
speech at Birmingliam, for the Midland Institute, in 1855,t and the 
speech at Aberdeen, at the meeting of the British Association, are 
excellent. But to our mind the Prince never surpassed in compre- 
hensiveuess, In liis fearless truthfulness, and in dehcacy of touch 
and handhng, hia address at the festival of the Royal Academy, in 
1850, when ho was still but thirty. After treating of the character 
of Sir Charles Eastlake, he proceeds to the general subject : — 

"Gentlemen, the prodnctiou of all works in art or poetry requires, lu 
their conception and execution, not only an exercise of the intellect, skill, 
and patience, but partimilarly a coiirarrent warmth of feeling and a free 
flow of ima^sation. This n-nders them most tender plants, which will 
thrif'e only in an atmospheie calculated to maintain that warmth ; and that 
atmiaphere is rpne of kinibicss — kiiidiieas towards the artist [n-rsnTially, as 
well as tnwardit his prtxlnctiou. An unkind word of criticis^ni passes like 
a cold blast over their [qy. these] tender shoots, and shrivels them up, 
checking the flow of the sap, which was rising to produce, perhaps, multi- 
tudes of flowers and fruit. 

" But still, criticism is absolutely necessary to the development of art, 
and the injudicious praise of an inferior work becomes an insult to 
superior genius. 

" In this respect our times are pecuharly unfavourable, when compared 
with those when Madonnas were [lainted in the seclusion of convents. For 
we have now, on the one hand, the eager competition of a vast array of 
artists of every degree of talent and skill, and on the otiier, as judge, a 
great public, for the greater part wholly uneducated in art, and thus led by 
professional writers, who often strive to impress the public with a great 
idea of their own artistic knowledge by the merciless manner iu which 
they treat works which have cost those who produced them the highest 
eSort« of mind or feeling. 

" The works of ait, by being publicly exhibited and offered for sftle, are 
becoming articles of trade, following, as such, the unreasoning laws of 
markets and fashion; 'and public and even private patronage is swayed 
by their tyrannical influence."} 

In these evils he finds the ground for the existence of the 

* Sppecben, pp. 121-1. 


Academy, which haa done much to deserve the public coufidence, 
tat yet to which he does uot hesitate to point ont it« own besetting 

We pass on to a Btill higher matter. Where an wami and so wide 
an iulj?rt-Bt Ir Celt in one disparted, there cannot bnt be ranch desire 
tu kiiow what, in this agitated and expectant age, was liia mental 
mtituiie with respect to religion. On this great Bubject there has 
been some degree of reserve, whicli we should be the la«t to blame ; 
ffir at n time of sharp division, and of much fashionable scepticiam 
as wull as bigotry, Io\'ing hands, sticli as those which tend the 
Princu's memory, are little likely to expose a beloved reputation 
to the harshest and most penetrating fonns of eriticism. For the 
public, however, the matter has now become one of history. The 
nntion knew, during the lifetime of the Prince, alt perhaps, that it 
had a right to know. They knew that he was a rehgious man. In 
hi* earliest youth,* at the period of his confirmation, to which, in 
Oermnny, a peculiar character attaches, he declared ^vitli energy 
his resolved adoption ()f the Christian profession. To its public 
<lntiw he paid a regular homag^. His hfe was known to be of a 
imrc and severe morality, of au incessant activity in duty, of an 
eiemplary tone in the varioUB domestic rehitions. The confidence 
of Ibe country, won npon these grounds, was Healed by the obvious 
preWmcc of a detpnnined and even far-reaching Protentantiam.t 
The Prince was friendly to au equality of civil rights independent 
<rf religious profesuion ; but with such a frame of opinion for 
Kmaetf, aud with bis marked eamestneBs of character, a certain 
degree of theological bigotry may liave formed an ingredient iu 
hit views of the rehgious system of the Latin Church, even when 
coDRilered apart from its latest aud most extravagant developmeufs, 
ofwhich he lived to witness Home bold beginnings. 

So fiir as can be gathered incidentally from those wiio find ad- 
mittan(?c to the inner circles, not much is to bo added to the 
ontKiio which met the public eye. Nothing has been learned to 
allow that his mind was deeply impressed with the value or the 
puticulars of dogmatic orthodoxy. With his refined culture, he 
onild not bnt repel the cnide vulgarities, which sometimes 
diwharge themselves from tlie pulpit, and lurk in forms of popular 
fel^on ; and it is extensively believed that the Chui-ch owes to 
*liB Prince's influence and suggestion the appointment of the able 
Prelate who fills the see of Worceetev, in Bubstitution for a person 
of Diuro popular and ahowy type, but of far leas learning, capacity. 
and governing force. Wliat was more than this was the convic- 
tion, which all intercourse with the Prince conveyed, as to his owu 
relbg notions of daily conduct. Hia life was, in truth, one 

' MirtiB, p. 10. 

t Kpoeche*, p. 10. 



suetoinc-d aud peipetual effort to realize the great law of duty to 
God, -and to discharge the heavy debt whicli he secmud tu fetil 
was laid upon him by his high station, and hy the comnuvud of 
the means andsonrccB not lose of uuufidnesa than of enjoyment. 
As a watch wonud up obeys its maiiiBpring till it ha« all run out, 
6o he, at all moments, seemed to be answt;ring the call of an 
inward voice, simimoning liim to learn, to tliJnk, to do, to bear. 
In all ranks audforraa of Ufe this is a noble, an ecUf_)Tng spectacle; 
and it is more noble and edifying, in proportion as tlie elevation is 
greater, and the object visible from a wider range. 

Some religionists mil be tempted hereupon to say how sad it 
■was that one who carae bo near to the kingdom of God should not 
have entered in. Some will simply hold the description we 
have given to be that of a diy self-righteousiifss, which caoodt 
stand in the day of account. A third class, whose doubts and 
scruples would command more of our sympathy, would sisk thero- 
selves how it was that a man who thus earnestly and faithfully set 
himself to do the divine ^"ill, did not accordingly appreciate at 
their fullest value, those specific revelations of tintth, in the foi-m 
of doctrines and institutionB, which Cliiistians in general have 
accepted as the most effectual sources of regenerative power, 
both for the individual, as e-stablished by persi>nal experience, and 
for society, as written on the long scroll of history during eighteen 
centuries. But this opens a question alike broad and deep, and 
we can only glance for a moment along the vuta. . 

Let us endeavour to sketch a frame of relipons sense and con- 
viction different from that of the Prince. We take a human soul 
profoundly conscious of the tahit and power of sin ; one givea to 
the contemplation of the character of Christ, and shocked at it« own 
immeasurable distance from the glorious image of the Mnater ; i)ne 
pained, not only witli the positive forms of corruption, but with 
the pervading grief of general imperfection and unwortliim^ss, and 
with the sense how tho choicest portions of the hfe sti-angely nm 
to waste, how the best designs are spoiled by faulty aetiiatinn, how 
there are teai-s (in the toucliinglanguago of Bisliop Bcveridge) 
that want washing, and repentance that needs to be T<-peiitod of. 
Such an one feels liiniself engaged in a double warfare, against eiyjl 
without, and against evil witliin ; and tinds tJie last even fiwier 
Uian the first. To deprive one eo minded of any fraction of wli^t 
are termed the doctrines of graco, of such lights as shoue upon 
the souls of Saint Paul, Saint Augustine, and Saint Benmrd. is to 
drain away tho life's blood of the spirit, and lay him h(;li>le«s at the 
teet of inexorable foes. For a nature such as this, religion is 
not only a portion or department of conduct, but, by a striuguut 
necessity, the great standing, solemn drama or action of life, (hat 
in which all mental powci-s and all emotiouB <»f the heart are 


most constantly and intensdy exercised ; and the yearnings, efforts, 
and conflicts which belong to the external order, are as nothing 
compared to those which are to God-wards. 

Bnt as in the Father's house there are many mansions, so there 
are vast diversities in the forms of character He is preparing to 
inhabit them. However true it may be that all alike have sinned, 
it is far from true that all have sinned alike. There are persons, 
though they may be rare and highly exceptional, in whom the 
atmosphere of purity has not been dimmed, the forces of temp- 
tation are comparatively weak, and at the same time the sense of 
duty is vigorous and lively. Hence the temper which trusts God 
and loves Him as a Father, is not thwarted in its exercise by habi- 
tual perversity, nor associated with so crushing a sense of the sin- 
fulness that debars us from approach to Him, or of the need of a 
Saviour, and a sacrifice, and of the gift and guidance of the Holy 
Spirit working in us that we may have a good will, and with us 
when we have that good will. Persons such as these, ever active 
in human duty, need not be indifferent about religion ; on the 
contrary they may be strongly religious. They xnay, as the Prince 
did, condemn coldness and commend fervour.* They may " give 
their heart to the Purifier, their will to the Will that governs the 
nniveree ; » and yet they may but feebly and partiaUy appreciate 
parts of Christian dogma ; nay, they may even, like Charles Lamb, 
the writer of these beautiful and powerful words, hold themselves 
apart from its central propositions. So it may come about that 
the comparative purity of a man's nature, the milder form of the 
deterioration he inherits, the fearless cheeifiilness with wliich he 
seems to stand and walk in the light of God's presence, may 
impair his estimate of the wanner, more inward, and more 
spiritual parts of Christianity. Further, they may altogether pre- 
vent liim from appreciating the Gospel on its severer side. He 
may generously give credit to others for dispositions corresponding 
with his own : and may not fully perceive the necessity, on their 
behalf, of that law which is made, not for the righteous, but for the 
ungodly and the profane, of those threatenings and prohibitions 
wherewith the Gospel seeks to arrest reckless or depraved spirits 
in their headlong course, to constmin them to come in, and to 
rescue them as brands from the burning. He may imduly genera- 
lize the facts of his own mental and moral constitution. 

We do not admit that the dissent or only faint or partial 
adhesion of these exceptional human beings to the ancient creed 
of the Christian Church detracts from its just authority ; but we 
should be slow to charge the inadequacy of their doctrinal con- 
ceptions upon moral defect, or to deny the ti-uth, force, and value 

* Speeches, pp. 182, 184. 



(if the lieart-ec-rvice which they may and do render, and render 
witli affectioDate humility, to their Father and their God. The 
Chrietiaii dngma ia the nrdaiued miiaiia of generating and suft- 
taining the religiouB Ufe ; but the Almighty is not titd to the 
paths He marks out for Hia servant*, and we are nowhere 
autborieed to say there can be no reli^ous life except as the 
direct product of the Chriatian dogma in its entirety. 

AVe might, if epace permitted, exlubit largely anotlier claae of 
cftBe«, where the reception of the Goepel seems to be determiiied 
to a particular and by no means normal form of conditions of 
perefiual character. There is a highly popular Idud of Chriatian 
teaching, which dwells more or lose congenially within the 
precincts of various cummunions, and of which it is tha 
diatinguiahing characteristic that while it retains and presents, 
with some crudity, the dtictrinc of tJie Fall, the Atonement by 
Bubatitution. the intensity of sin, and the final condemnation of 
the wicked, it reduces the method of dehverance to a formula of 
extreme simplicity. A certain reception of Christ, not easy to 
describe paychologically, is held to be the only duor to spiritual 
life. It conveya a salvation in itself immediate and complete ; 
and not only entails the obligation, liut supphcs the unfailing 
motive for walking inthe way of Christian obedience towards moral 
perfection. Purity of mind and natural balance of character sup- 
pUed US, in the case formerly presented, with the key to the problem; 
whereas the doctrinal scheme now before us rather commends itself 
to those who are suddenly awakened to a sense of gross neglect or 
tranagreaeion, and who are in this aeuse at least childlike, that the 
elements of their charactera are few and simple, and their ininds 
unused to what ia profound or complex. A sumraar)- presenta- 
tion and settlement, so to speak, of the religious accomit between 
God and the soul, is that which most accords with the general 
form of their mental habits. These two distinct modea of appre- 
hending rehgion, so much contrasted, seem to have in common 
the important points that each may he sincere, and for the 
individual efficient, but that neitljer have the solidity necesBary 
for continuous transmission : and the Ukelihood is, that a great 
share of the efficacy they possess is derived from that general 
atmosphere of Chiiatianity in which we Uve, and much of which 
we may uncouaciously and without moral choice (irpQatixo-ts) inhale. 

We proceed to quote from the Speeches a passage addressed 
to a ftoiiference on education in 1857, which distinctly testifies 
not only to the earnest piety of the speaker, but to bis cleara 
advised oonvietiona: — 

" Our Ileaveiily Father, in His boundless goodaeBs, Las made hlrf 
tures that tliey should be happy, and His wisdom has fitted Ills i 
to Ills etidn, pving to all of tnem different faculties and qualities. In asAx^ ' 



nd (tevoluping which they fulfil their doatiny, aiid, rumiing their imi/orm 
coarse occurdiog to the prescription, they find that happmess which lie has 
iiit«ndei] for them. Mau alone is bora iuto this world with faculties far 
nnbler thaii tlie other creatures, reflecting the image of Him who has willed 
that there should he beiaga on earth to know and worship Him, bat 
eudowed with the power of self-det«nninatioD. Having reason given him 
ior his guide, lie can develop his faculties, place himself in harmony with 
his Dirine prototype, and attain that happiness which is offered to him on 
«rth, to be completed hereafter in entire nnion with Him throogh the 
nwrcy of Christ. But he can also leave these faculties unimproved, and 
luai his mission on earth. He will then sink to the level of the lower 
k, forfeit happiness, and sepai'ate from his God, whom he did not 
flow to find."" 

lere are men who are religious by temperament, though 
•eeptical in their intellect. Sucli was not the case of the Prince. 
He liad been trained in Germany under influences rather of the 
l^UBlieiug than the orthodox party, but hie religion had a firm 
1, as must be manifest from tiiis passage, In his mind not 
1 in his heart. 
Swill moreover, aa we think, be observed with pleasure that oe 
7«ti8 rolled on, though the flower of hfe was still in full blow, an 
increasing warmth of tone pervaded the Prince's sentiments in 
tiu great matter. On an occasion secular enough for such as are 
pBed BO to take it, namely, that of presenting coloum ui 1859 
mtt&lion of his regiment, he breaks forth copiously iuto terms 
■ly Christian and paternal affection : — 

by God's best blessing att«nd you, shield you frcm danger, support 
pidn- difficulties, cheer you under privations, grant yon m^eration in 
' I, contentment under discipline, numility and gratjtude towards Him 

e tlian thirteen years have now passed, since the Prince was 
hered to his fiithcrs; and liie character belongs to history. To 
stieb a man it is no compliment to treat of him in a strain merely 
cimrtly and eulogistic. He ^vill shine most in the colours which 
the truth supplies : he would have been the first to reject adula- 
tion, and to disapprove excess. It is but the naked and cold 
tnilli, that we poBscBsed in him n treasure ; that he raised the 
Diftience and iisefiilness of our highest institution to its highest 
Pwnt, and that society has suffered heavily from the slackening of 
the beneficial action to which he so powerfully contributed. 

At Windsor, the noblest aud most complete of all the abodes of 
European royalty, in the beautifiU chapel built by Henry VII. 
**rtfl,-ard from St. George's, and afterwards given to AVoleey, lies 
tiie alfigy of the Prince, which ivill probably stand with the public 
wd w-ith posterity as in a proper and especial sense his mouu- 
"wt. The outlay of her Majesty upon the interior of the building, 

^^H * SpeetlieE, p. i91. 


in the endeavour to bring it up to the standard of her love, must 
have been very large ; and the result is that, without losing 
its solemnity, it has attained exceeding splendour. Roof and 
floor, walls and windows, altar and sedilia, ancestral, royal, sacred 
effigies, marbles sculptured and inlaid in colour, all bear the stamp 
of a more than queenly magnificence; and the criticism which a 
very few points might invite with reference to the details of 
execution may be omitted, lest it should jar with the conspicuous 
and noble harmony of the work as a whole. The pure white 
marble figure of the Prince reposing on his altar-tomb, amidst all 
these glories, vividly presents the image of his stainless character 
and life, persistently exhibited through all the sumptuous fasci- 
nation and array of briUiancy, which lay along his earthly path. 

Over the tomb of such a man many tears might fall, but not 
one could be a tear of bitterness. These examples of rare intelli- 
gences, yet more rarely cultivated, with their great duties greatly 
done, are not Kghts kindled for a moment, in order then to be 
quenched in the blackness of darkness. While they pass else- 
where to attain their consummation, they live on here in their 
good deeds, in their venerated memories, in their fruitful 
example. As even a fine figure may be eclipsed by a gorgeous 
oofitume, so during life the splendid accompaniments of a Prince 
Oonsort's position may for the common eye throw the quaUties of 
his mind and character, hii» true himianity, into shade. These 
hindrances to effectual perception are now removed ; and we can 
see, like the forms of a Greek statue, severely pure in their bath of 
fitouthem Hght, all his extraordinary gifts and virtues ; his manly 
force tempered with gentleness, playfuhiess, and love ; his intense 
devotion to duty ; his pursuit of the practical, with an unfailing 
thought of the ideal ; his combined allegiance to beauty and to 
truth ; the elevation of his aims, with his painstaking care and 
thrift, and methodizing of Hfe, so as to waste no particle of hi9 
means. His exact place in the hierarchy of bygone excellence it 
is not for us to determine ; but none can doubt that it is a privi- 
lege which, in the revolutions of the years, but rarely returns, to 
find such graces and such gifts of mind, heart, character, and 
person united in one and the same individual, and set so steadily 
and firmly, upon a pedestal of such giddy height, for the instruc- 
tion and admiration of mankind. 



IT BBems to me that the actual state of Europe, and especially of 
the Latiu racee, is such as to make lie (listruBt the ideas by 
wWeh we have hitherto bc-eii giiided. There certainly seenis to 
b* a necessity for reviewing our theories concerning the moral 
cnniKtioos of civil order, and the part which religions beliefs play, 
W are destined to play, in the affiiira of human society. 

We may ascribe it to the raillery of fortune, but never has there 
Iweii BO much discourse as at the present hoiir about tlie abfiohito 
wpntation of the spiritnal and the temporal. And yet it may be 
w»id Ihiit, throughout Europe, we nee nothing but secular conflicts 
proroked by tliffereiices in religion, religions struggles exasperated 
lij political hatreds, and events which demouHtrate that, at tlio 
prwent time, it is impossible to defend a form of government 
wthout liaving also to take part for or against a Church — im- 
powiblp, both for individuals and parties, to take different sides 
rm ri.-lt)^ou8 questions without being also irreconcilable cueiuies 
in politics. 

tent, in fact, the humour of fortune haa nothing to do with these 
"lattprn. If our principles are belied by events, it is because thoy 
^ not rest on an exact perception of the impossible and the 
ineritahle. The tnith is, that Europe, -witliout being snfflciently 
oonsciduB of the origiji and gra-^-ity of the schism, finds itself 
divided into two entirely different methods of understanding life, 
*tid the best way of iiBing our faculties. There is on the one 


hand Catholicism, whiuh kuowa of no other way of keeping men 
fi'oiu dieoi'tler but Gubmisaiou to an external power charged with 
appointing the rule of life. Thin rule all are to obey, however 
ranch it may be opposed, not only to their desiroB, but to their 
conscience. On the other hand there is eecular pliiloBopIiy. which in 
order to bring man under the guidance of reason, can de\-iso no 
better means than that of leaving him practically without roligiou. 

I do not Bpeak merely of Positivism, which pneitively declai-eB 
that reason itself consists in abjuring all theology and all raeta^ 
phyeice, in giving up the vain search after invisible truth, in order 
to concentrate our faculties on the study of external facts and 
their practical bearings. Between this irreligious dogmatism 
of tlie Extreme Left and the authoritative Catholicism of the 
Extreme Right, there exists scarcely anything but a Liberalism 
which has two di^Heions — that of the Right Centre and that 
of the Left. Ceilainly, this Liberahsm has no wish to suppress 
religious convictions; but it maintains tliat in all cases religion 
is purely a private matter, and ought to have no influence on 
political questions, either as viewed by individuals or by 
uatiouE. Some, tlirough fear that tlie State will violate con- 
science, and not favour their doctrines, proclaim the absolute 
incompetency of the State to deal vrith religious matters. Others, 
fearing that the Churchea would trouble society by their preten- 
sions, and interefere witli the national hberties, proclaim reh^OD 
absolutely incompetent to deal with civil mattets. In both cases, 
tlie same practical conclusion is reached, which is, that secular 
society is to rest on a law that completely abandons religion to 
private choice, accords equally to all beliefs the right of propar 
gating themselves, or, ratlicr, gives up to their control public 
education in ri^ligious matters. By a natural law, what the heart 
wishes the intellect iinds. The two Liberal schools have appHed 
themselves to the examination of facts to Bud proof that the co- 
existence of the most opposite behefs is not prejudicial to social 
order — that there is nothing to hinder the members of the same 
uatiou from being at their pleasure Cathohcs or Protestants, 
Atheista or iudiiferent, and yet to agree entirely on secular ques- 
tions, and the kuid of government most suited to the society in 
which all are to live. 

For tlie last fil'ty years especially, this Liberal philosophy, or, to 
speak more correctly, tlusphilosophy for the support of Liberalism, 
has been the common bond of Eiu'ope. With the exception of 
Cathohcs, and men devoted to old ideas of government, almost all 
thinkers, both in England and Franct.', have been imanimous in 
regarding religious beliefs as opinions essentially speculative, and 
having no necessary relation to daily life or pohUcs. They set 
out ^vitli the conviction that it is self-interest which guides the 


world; ami tlmt, to cBtablish solid society, we must, before all 
tUitgs, reckon on the cares wliicli men have in buyinjj and selling, 
dotfainif t]ieiQ8i>Ives, and increasing their temporal goods. From 
tioBthoj infer that the fomiation of religious beliefs is a matter quite 
tuiimportant, and that it is enough to render them inoffeneive. 
Th«y inculcate on the men of every Cliurch to be utilitarian in 
their ideas, and to regard as the beet policy what is most sub- 
Bprvient to their general interests. 

To-day we are reaping tlie fruit of this theory. Preoccupied 
mtirely with political economy, we have not perceived the 
tntagonistic tendencies which our oflicial Church and our lay 
philosophy have created among the people. We have not kept 
vilU\\ on the influence which these two teachers have exercised 
over men's minds, and their mode of looking at their interests. 
Snctt the fall of the Empire this latent antagonism lias 
Itecoioe manifest in a poliHciil chaos. We have before our 
eyea the clearest evidenco that our irreligious philosophy has 
only served to perpetuate irrational reHgion, Moreover, it has 
lieen demouBtrated, and thut by cannon balls, that people do not 
get rid of Kuperstitiou by mL-mis of unbelief. Whilst the educated 
preach and practise theological indifference, the multitude who 
lave religious wants have no other resource but to turn to the old 
Qiurcb, which represents the only religion of which they have 
any idea. Women have counted their beade ; the sick and the 
dying have aaked consolation from the cures of their parishes ; 
pirentfl, even the unbelieving, who are unwilling to let their 
eUldren bo without all behef, have sent them to learn the 
catechism. In fact, France is literally divided into two halves, 
which threaten to destroy each other. Wlule many go in for 
locialisni and the Cominmie, midtitudes reraahi faithful to the 
Church, and otiier multitudes, who are frightened at the practical 
ooBsequeuces of unbehef, allow themselves to be led to Lourdes 
Ud P«ray-le-ManiaI. This is the army behind the leaders, who, 
irilh their assistance, are re-establishing the rule of the two 
dvine rights. 

On this matter it is impossible to have two opinions. There 
may be a difference as to the part which religion ought to play, 
and which it will play in the futnre. We may regard either as 
Sad dt aa beneficial the influence which Catholicism exercises 
npou the political destinies of France, but we cannot shut our 
oyes to the extent of its influence, or the part which it has played 
in tlio graVe.Kt events of our century. If it has not had the power 
of creatiug governmeuts, it has certainly had that of destroying 
more tlian one. We liave seen tho fall of the Conservativi ■. 
M. Thiol's, as well as of Orleanism ; and no one 
tnomnt of the eause of the wreck of both these, which as 


moderate eohitioiis, represented the beet, perhaps the only cliniwSf 
which France had of escapiag Radicalism without falling into 
clerical monarchy. M, Thiers fell under the coalition of Cou- 
servativeB and UltramontaneB. Orleanism has had the same ftite ; 
for if it lias been abandoned by the Orleaniet Princes, it was 6r8t 
abandoned by the country. In other words, the mass of intercstB, 
frightened by Radicalism, passed over to the side of clerical 

Is it necessary to remark that this collapse of the interme- 
diary parties, which leaves the triumph for the Exti-eme Righfc 
or the Extreme Left, can be accounted for only by the par- 
ticular character of our Church and her doctrines ? In England, 
the cause of constitutional government is not stibject to defeat 
by any league of Conservatives and the Ciiureh, and that 
for this excellent reason, that in England the Chnrch does not 
make rehg^on to consist in the renunciation of individual reason 
and national liberty. However great may be tlie difference which 
separates Mr. John Bright from Mr. Disraeh or from the Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury, the Archbishop of Canterbury might be- 
come Prime Minister Avithout the English people nmning the 
risk of losing, as individuals, their moral independence, and, 
as a people, the right of deciding according to their reason 
and their conscience -what ought to be the laws of their 

But the influence of the national religion in France reaches 
much beyond the direct action of the Catholic party itself. 
Tlie more comprehenaivo the view we take of the forces which 
are constantly reacting upon each other, the more clearly wo 
shall discover how much our roUgioua paat has had to do with 
making France what it is to-day. It has fonned the national 
character such as wo see it in our different parties. It had 
created the grand currents in the conflict of M-hich wo are 
destined to endless alternations of disorder and despotism, and 
to excessive outbursts of passion imd superstition. In the 
midst of those the reason of the country is always certain to be 
with the minority, and always tempted by its own weakness tn 
lean to one or other of the popular Radicalisms, 

In reading the judgments which the foreign press makes «« oar 
progress, or the comments of our o\vn journals, I am reminded 
involuntarily of the words of Shakespeare, that " there an- more 
things ill heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our jthilosophy." 
Let the question be the fall of M. Thiers, the pilgrimages, or 
the Radical returns of the Paris and Lyons elections, none of our 
parties will trouble themselves toinquire into the reasons, but wll bw 
contentwithattributingwhateverin them is reprehensible to thefoJIi^^ 
of thfir opponents. During this reeriniination. foreigners, who lo^^H 


Qdtliiiig u{ our eliarp encountei's in the political aix-nu, attribute 
all amply to the iiiliereiit faults of tlie natiDual uharactbr. They 
McrilK' it to the timidity and apathy of the majority of the French 
peo|ili}, who allow theniselves to be governed in turns by each of 
thi? two cxtrume factiwis. They set do^\-n as tho cause the feeble- 
ness »if our gnveninieot^ which have never produced anything 
aaaJi-'gouB to the reBolntion of the Tudors, to tiiu fimineBs with 
wIlIl'Ii the Henrys and tlic Eliiiabetlia subdued, on the right band 
and on the- left, tlie Papists and the ultra-Protestaiits. 

I dn not d(;ny that there is much truth in these reproaches, I 
even boUeve Uiat our accusers are perfectly in the right, if they 
mean lo say that the French have a character entirely disjointed, 
and put only the half of themselves into their resolutions. Impulse 
takes away reflection, and thus they are condeumed to oscillate 
pprpi'tually between impracticable ideas and irrational practices, 
ktffoen asciiticism and Ubertinism, between the fixed idea of living 
without sleep and the endeavour to sleep ■witiiout any more 
thought of living. But that which I cannot admit is the psycho- 
tugj', or if it is preferred the political philosophy, which I find at 
the fouudution of tlie diderent judgments, and which consists in 
iLting things only by pieces and in morsels — which supposes 
that social events are the work of a single group, or the immediate 
SvA of certain dispositions inherent in individuals. Our modem 
iUtionatism has occiistomed us to conrader avery Hud of general 
idctt which we find in a man as a product of his reason aloue. 
We say that if he has an idea of justice, or of tho laws of the 
univorBB, it 18 because he possesses personally a kind of inward eye, 
iQOre Cr less cleiir, which permits him to see more or less distinctly 
tlw eternal laws of justice and of the univei-se. In the same way 
ve set out always v.-iih the silent supposition that the cauut) of 
wcial facts is to be sought in the intention, the intelligence or 
WMit of inteJhgence, of particular individuals or classes. A rt-vo- 
htiuii wliicli succeeds, a goveniment which has a future, appears 
1" tiH ti,i be due to the foresight of some statesman or a company 
«f pirsouB who have agreed that it is the very thing which ought 

It appears to ine that when we come to re^'iew the hypothesis 
00 which nur pliilosophers rest, and to aak if. on the contiury, there 
'*htiu.t political and other general ideas of individuals which have 
TieircRuse tho general state of society, our present poHtical and 
ll theories ivill be completely overturned. That day will show 
i the destiny of nations, that all public facta, with the ideas 
1 which they depend, and all collective movements iu which 
■Diiividunls take a part, ai'e essentially the products of the conilieta 
1 thu co-opemtion of the different classes of which society ie 
Kist,Hl. Of course the totality of individual dicpositious is 



always tliat which makes the social conditioH of nations. Bat 
what I ivifih to eay is, that these dispoBitions do not act apart 
trom each otlier, and do not create directly. They eimply 
tribute to determine the nature of parties, which decide, in 
of individual willa, what for a community is impoemblB ot< 

In France, as in other coimtiies, children are born into 
of things already prepared. They learn to speak a common 
language, and, whatever may be their instincts, they can only 
know, love, and hate the things which constitute their everj'- 
day world. Granting that in France men are less thoughtfnl and 
less firm of utII than they are elsewhere, yet any one who looks 
beyond mere appearance will rco that that is not the secret of our 
disorganization and nur incapacity to come out of it. That secret 
is to be found in the spirit which the past has bequeathed to 
us, in the foi-ra which the good or bad qnahfies of individuals or 
classes cannot but take under the pressure of all the permanent 
influences. The misfortune of France is, that all the social forces 
are there ill associated, ill combined together ; and that, for want 
of a good tradition, the reason of the country can separate them 
from dangerous coalitions only to see them soon after form others 
equally diingerous. 

The origin of our misforlimes is far back. Its date is found in the 
sixteenth century, when France, wearied of the oppressive religion 
of the middle ages, sought consolation by giWng itself up to un- 
belief and Paganism. ^Vllat part was she to take at tliis crisis? 
Was she to remain Catholic, or follow Luther^ One of our 
greatest historians answers, she did neither. France would only 
follow her own Rabelais. That was her choice. ^Vhil8t other 
nations reformed their Church, she preferred to let hers Htand as 
it was, to turn her back on it, indulging herself In the enjoyment 
of the fine arts and clever diplomacy. It was allowed to 
dispense witli theology, to have no great care about what it was 
necessary to believe, and to devote the faculties to the study of 
the most channing mythology, or to what is most useful to be said 
or done to obtain results in accordance with the desires of tbe 

But it is not so easy to live only for pleasui-e. Thert^ 
Calvins who are tormented by thoughts of the eternal, and 
do not siiffer any power to prevent their believing that whi( 
they cannot but beheve. There are multitudes who, at every 
pohtical or religious crisis, run, with their eyes shiit, whither 
their impulses lead them. And whilst tJie intelligent part of 
France was practisiug Machiavehsm, or writing odes to Venus, the 
Cliurch. in danger of being ovcrtumed. was gi%-ing the country tlta 
massacre of St, Bartholomew, the League, the Bull U ' 

■ the I 



the absolute raoiiarchy of Lonis XIV.. and the revocatioB of tha 
Eilict of Nantes. To cpeak more correctly, royalty and the 
anstoc racy had no choice left to them hwt abjuring their philo- 
ikiphy, that with the Churcli they might neal the alliance of the 
two abeohitisme. The mag^tntoy and the citizens, when tliey 
found thcniBelves iii the midst of the terrible disastere that 
Mlowed the overthrow of established beliefs, had no other 
monrce but to join the Holy League, The intelligence of 
France liad arrived at nothing higher than the art of making life 
Bgreeable. There has never been in the country more than on© 
philosophy, and that is not concerned with the inquiry as to what 
U to be believed. It seeks even the contrary of duty. Along 
witli thin has been tlie old Cathohc tradition which, as a i-ule of 
life.recognized only the passive submission of all to a rule imposed 
bra material authority. Ob^'iously this tradition, even when it 
had [he support of but a small part, of the intelligent, could alone 
give to the country its government and its ideas of government, 
hi time« of revolution and of civil war, when the intolerable 
iaconveniences of anarchy made themselves felt, it was the Church 
only which had a plan of government capable of application. It 
■loDi' could offer a creed capable of furnishing ideas of duty, 

Heiicefottli morality and reason were divorced, never again to 
ke nnited. We now find ourselves in prenence of the two spiritt^ 
Aat are to be for the future the only real actors in our history. 
The Cbwrch. in its imperious attitude towards the conaciences of 
sH who (io not accept its doctrines, took the route at the end of 
^ch is tho Syllabus. It ceased to bo the nurse of mind, and to 
ttacb doctrines to which reasonable men could give their assent. It 
predestined itself to be a purely material government, to rest on 
force and Bapt-rstition, and to stiflo conscience. It concentrated 
niigioQ on the duty of renouncing private judgment. It pro- 
ttribed civil liberty, and by making spiritual subjection the only 
me&os of order and morality, it has driven all intelligence to the 
•de of iklhcism and immorality. 

On the other hand, secular reason, by turning its back on 
theology, and setting out with the idea that, to procure what is 
tnctt agreeable, it la not necessary for us to ask what is true 
•id proper fur all, is in the path wliich leads to Positivism and 
llvltiSB Socialism. It will often change its object, oi-, rather, 
wnat it supposes to be its most desirable object will change 
with circumstances. After having sought, \i-ithout any anxiety 
fotlmth, iJic pleasures of beautiful Pagan art, it will then pro- 
piw, DA the means of happiness, the regeneration of society, or 
by physical science if. will urge on a great development of industry 
or (jfifect tho economy of legislation. But as to the great social 
ptubleiii, tliat of putting classes and individiml.s into the condition 



o! being ftble to live together in peace uotwitliBtaiidiiig divaoM 
wiiihee, it ta destined to tank deeper into eiTor. As to tha supers 
stltibus bdiefB wbidh it rtfiises to modify, it can propose nothing 
bat the abjuratiou of theology and metaphyacs. To keep cloar of 
deqjotism it will propagate materialiBm and tuibelief amoog the 
unreasoning niaaees. wliich wiU only lead to the unbridled indnl- 
gehoe of the appetites. By identifying thu cause of resison and 
libei-ty with that of irreligion and anarchy, it will only farther 
th( cause of deiipotism and euperetition. 

The part, of dupes which the edncated claaseB played in the 
sixteenth century they 'will have to play again in the futnre. Jn 
times of peace they ^viil be sceptical for the sake of pleasure, and 
through hatred of the throne, the altar, and the aristocracy, they 
■will prtsFicU Fourieriem, Socialism, or Atheism, in order to bring to 
tjieir help the passions of tlie street ; and then, as soon as a revolu- 
tion shows them what unbelief has produced, when it descends 
among those who have neither a position nor a reputation to lose, 
tliosf wild thiuk only of their pleasures, they will tremblo for what 
thvy have done. Without thoniBelvea believing anything, through 
ftar of the Jacobins they will demand the re-eetabhshment of 
Catholicism, or tlirongh hatred of the Conunune they will rush 
into Iho arms of the Jesuits and the clerical monarchy. 

Certainly thcBo two radicalisms which contend for the direction 
of our afiairs do not represent, as to niunbers, the whole of the 
coiuitry. It has beeaisaid that France is neither Ultramontane, nor 
AtheiBt,norLegitimiBt,norSocialiBt., Thisistrue; onlytthasbeen 
infeii'ed tlmtit is Left Centre, and that it was in favour of a Liberal 
monarchy or a Conservative republic, which is not the case. The 
great majority of French people havo really no choice hetweon 
the Syllabus and Democracy. They no more take part with those 
who practise asceticism than willi those who preach cynicism, but 
live from day to day practising that indifference which our Church 
and our philosophy Agree in recommending. 

But while the indifferent multitude are occupied with their 
pltasui-es or theiir buancsa, only two credos, two theories, exist in 
France. On the one hand there is the clerico-mouarchical ti*di- 
tion, which seeks order by the suppression of individual reason 
aod national liberties; on the other liand there is an anarohiat 
propaganda which promises prosperity and unbounded pleasure 
thi-ough tJie suppression of Churches and govcmmonte. Of this 
propaganda the people take no notice, but every time tliat society 
is distinbed, or whenever France finds itsslf governed in a way 
that it does m^t likct^eee thoughtless masses are forced to sida with 
one Or other of the two rivals. To speak correctly, tbey have no 
choice 1<> mako. The Conservative intoresta are irresiBtihly tedte 
aji alliance with the clenco-legitiniist parly, and this oi^^^| 

itKUOioN A.\'D poLirirs IN fhaxcj:. 


■VnCiiiipt to govern without causing a counter-alliauce of the 
liberal povrtra ^vith Sacialisiu, cyniciem, and all the otiier ibrces of 

Lot UB observe our Iiistory a littlf more closely. For two cen- 
mries it presents two regular and parallel movements. At a 
time when France is progressing in knowledge, the moh, wliicli 
ietbeBoul of the militant parties, every day becomes more violent. 
The illusinns by which they are guided in the beginiiiug of an 
Miti^tpriBo lead to disappointment. Then follows a series of con- 
flicte and inisundcrsfandings, by wliich the antagonistic parties 
ewneto be eouvHnced that agreement between them is impossible, 
uid tlieroforo their only alternative is war to deatli. 

His Well known how the ancient rv^ime provoked the Revolu- 
tion. when the worship of reason took the place of the worship of 
tlie Mints, and solemn proclamation was made of equality, liberty, 
and universal sovereignty. Tliis was the hour of idyls and seuti- 
rafoitalilies which so enlarged men's hopes that every one believed 
an image of gold was being erected, in which there would be a 
plaoefor the whole of humanity. Rationalism, the child of the 
Beuaiaaance. was as yet in the simple dreams of its infancy. It 
Traa intoxicated with the hope of having all the happiness or power 
liut it desired, and being able to celebrate as virtues whatever it 
approved, and of sending to the Gemonian stairs, as the carcase of a 
dwd enemy, all the restraints against which it had to contend. In 
*08wer to the philosophy of the Church which had sought to legi- 
timatize despotism by maintaining that men. left to themseh'es, 
would only fall into error and wrong, it was now said that the 
proper gift of man was to be \-irtuou8 — that he had no necessity to 
■oqirire the sentiment of tmth or of justice, for sueh sentiments 
were innate in every man bom into tins world. Jloreover, vices, 
pftjudices, and all suffering, were said to come from goveniraents 
«wt Churelies, from the selBshness of kings, and the hypocrisy uf 

.Accordingly, tliere was notluiig to be done but to enthrone 
^« uiiiverwil empire of justice, tmth, and goodness, which was to 
ovtrtnm all Churelies and governments, with whatever was not, 
'pwiible to human passions. To this work the party of reasoifi 
•od liberty devoted itself, \vith a firm conviction that nations afl^ 
individuals, onoc dehvered from all restraint, eonld not ia.i\,^(^. 
govmi themselves by the innate faculty whose province yfl^ito; 
fWopiizc justice and tratli. , , I , 

But after enthusiasm came reflection, and reality succeeded |tlte 
dream. The party of light and hberty found it easy to ajjrttg^te , 
naiijue pri%'iIegeB, overturn an oppressing royalty, aif (jl, , j;^eQti an, 
wclf«iaBlical dictatorship. But the natural rea^pi^j ap(l itiifli 
clwr teiirjcncy for ^-irtue, did not make their appearance. In- 

^%, SXVl. D 


stead of a kingdom of fraternity, of justice, and happiness, 
France had the law against the suspected, the massacres of 
September, the tribunal of the Revolution, the despotism of the 
Committee of Pubhc Safety, and the guillotine, as well as war -svitli 
the whole of Europe. Sic vos non voids. With their irreligious and 
anarchical Rationalism, the enemies of superstition and absolutism 
had simply opened the gate for their o\n\ destniction. 

I need not record how, when the Jacobins and the partisans of 
the throne and the empire could do notliing, there arose a soldier, 
who was neither Jacobin nor Legitimist, just because he was for 
himself. Thanks to the feai*s which the exaggerations of the two 
parties created among the masses who have no political con\dc- 
tions, he got possession of France. The new Caesar has a carU 
hlanche to govern according to his pleasure. This continues till he 
is overthrown by those whose -svills would not be subject to his 

After the fall of the Empire the two hostile tendencies which 
are at work in the country could not at once renew theu- fight. 
France is invaded, and receives a law from without. Besides the 
two currents of ideas which come from the past, there is an acci- 
dental stream of conunon feelings, of offended patriotism. There 
is, finally, Bonapartism, which holds in check the radical instincts 
as well as clerical tradition. Owing to these circumstances, owing 
to the discouragement given by some and to the scepticism of 
others, it is a Kttle band of thinkers who are at the head of affairs. 
Although the France of 1815 is thrown by the excesses of the Revo- 
lution into the anns of the clerical monarchy, the power at firet 
belongs to a moderate party, or rather to an Etat Majoi^ which is 
composed of Protestants and Catholics, of Liberals and thoughtful 
royalists, who hope to restore monarchy by concessions to Uberty, or 
to establish, imder the royalty of the divine right, the govermnent 
of the country by itself. Vain hope ! During the Restoration, as 
at other eras in our history, the small circle of prudent men is 
only a head ^vithout a body, a league of clover generals 
Avithout armies. Notwithstanding the good intentions of 
Louis XVIIL, and the wasdom of the Liberal Conservatives, the 
Radicalism and clericalism dominant in their minds awoke to defy 
them. The party of the Throne and the Altar, which forgets 
nothing, provoked by its pretensions all the latent elements of 
opposition, and united against it the common hatred of the 
Voltaireans and the Bonapai-tists. i\\id Jacobins and the Libemls 
— that political despair which dreams of the despotism of a sabre 
A\athout the sprinkler of the holy water, and all that, discontent 
in which is the germ of Socialism. That came wliich Avill come 
again, should the Coimt de Chambord mount the throne. Royalty 
has before it only those enemies who will not have clerical mon- 

lTgi'ox .\xd politics I-\ fuance. 

archy at any price, and tin.- I'ltran, wlui, ti) Iii-idk- tliL-ei; advei-aarieB, 
wisli tliut FranoL- t^lujuld be subjected absolutely to tht' will of the 
King iuid the olergj'. Hence the July ordiiiaiict^tt. As a govemment 
cBuiiot uxiet mi»i)endc-d in the air, that (.f Chiirk's X. trusted for 
iteaiipport to the lTltni8,aDd was carried away with themiua Hturiu. 
Let nu eiie speak of aecideuts ; there is uothiug more regular 
tliaii cliauce. The iniiinident aot by which a blnudf rur peri&Iiiia, 
or tlie bad pilot or false stroke of the helm by which a political 
government is upset, buloug to tlie duniaiu of circumstaucea. 
But when the ipieatiou is of uatious or indinduale, there are fixed 
ilaUi of character, wliioh determiue the iinpoaiiibki tir the inevi- 
table, that to wliieh one cUy or another they cannot fail to ^ouie. 
lu the overthiijw nf the Roetoration, the niumeut and the oouaaion 
alont! were accidental. The party wliicli came into power with 
the Bourbons, and the general spirit oi' Fi-auce, were too clearly 
incompatible for them not to come iuto collision sooner or later, 
in spite of the clevernewfl of the clever. 

It wae the same with tlie catastrophe wliich put an end to the 
monarchy of July. 

In 1830. again, it is a moderate party wliioh decides the fate 

of tlio uation. During the Restoration, as I have said, political 

Radicalism had been more or less counteracted by Bonapartism. 

Its nnti-religiouB and anti-uionarahical tendency had not time to 

draw up its army, to arrange its programme and its plan of propa- 

giuidisuL But Louie Philippe was scarcely on the throne, when the 

must threatening sjiuptoms were iQanifewt. From tlie top to tlie 

bottom of society that wliich is most evident is a common hatred 

of all moderation. The afiair of Pritchard, the railleries ou 

peace at any price, ou thy parsimouy of the King, and the a^ta- 

tionfor electoral reform, were only pretexts uivokt-d by an antt- 

palhy which lias altogether diflferent causes. The diseoutent 

which uiereased, and wliich was to dewtroy the couetitutioual 

nuinareby, is purely a matter of temperament. It means that 

tliiyre is an ab8()lute lucompatibility of temper between the ParHa^ 

meiitary govcrnnient wliich rests on tlie equihbrium of contrary- 

teiijeiicies and tiie two exclusive HadieaUsms between which 

Uim« miuds arc divided. The imrefleoting ci fwds only make 

JMlM cf the i-tttfrur« and the jiuu milieu, which to tliem are words 

•^Ifl'gmfy the superlative of the ridiouloUB, And tliiukci-s put 

^urtli pntfoimd arguments to detnoiistrato that the notion of a 

IwJanix- of power is essentially absurd. They do not undeiutaud 

hoir people i-au admit two gowrumenta at once — ^that is to say, 

'0 tliuir intelh'gence, as well as for the instincts of the masHc-s, 

lliere is no mediiini between the absolutism of a kiug and the 

»laolDtc will of a democracy. The mind of Fmuee dechuea as 

Qiixjtiehivable that which to its temperament is iinpussihle. 

r. 2 


The fact is, that under the monarchy of July, the hberty wliich 
the country enjoyed had for its principal moral result the develop- 
ment of Fourierism, St. Simonianism, and dogmatic democracy. 
And all these theories are at bottom but so many incarnations of 
one and the same spirit which i*ages everywhere. They represent 
the different fonns wliich the geneml tendency to extremes takes at 
different times and places according to the passions of individuals. 
That the character of Louis Pliilippe contributed to the overtlirow 
of the dynasty, and that the fall of the monarchy of July would 
not have taken place in 1848, are things certain. But it is not less 
certain that Avith the propagandists busy in the countiy, the for- 
mation of a great constitutional party in France was impossible : 
1848 has demonstrated that there is no longer a place for moderate 
Liberalism, that in our society, such as the fataUty of our education 
has constituted it, there is no chance for the reason of the country 
being able to establish a government which shall save the nation 
from despotism or anarchy, and permit it to be governed by 
reason, and not tossed to and fro by the waves of appetite and 
passion. Thus Liberahsm died in 1848. Mter, as before the 
Second Empire, that which now beai-s the name is in reality but 
a branch of RadicaHsm. The class of moderate thinkers who 
had formerly their own plan of government are now converted 
to the programme of impulsive democracy. Through despair 
of vanquishing the coahtion of those who are frightened and 
of the clerico-legitimist despotism, it has adopted direct universal 

I do not say that this alliance with Radicalism is a thing intended 
by the Libeml party in our day, nor even that it is conscious of 
having drifted towards the Extreme Left. The worst is, that its 
hatred for clericalism liind#ra it from understanding what it does. 
But it is not less certain that it advocates just that wliich has 
become the dogma of democracy, and that it thus proclaims direct 
univei-sal suffrage as the last hope of France, as the sole means of 
escaping absolutism, and even, it adds, revolutions. Now there is 
no question here of the intentions of contemporary Liberahsms. 
The question is not if our present. Liberals really beUeve that under 
the sovereignty of the ignorant masses they can obtain an intelligent 
* government, just as the Orleanists pei-suaded themselves that mider 
the clerical and Legitimist royalty of Count de Cliambord they could 
obtain a Liberal government. Direct universal suffrage does'not 
for all that change its nature, and its real nature is to be a scheme 
which puts legislation, the constitution, and the daily politics of 
thc^ country, at the mercy of the restless and uncertain multitude. 
Direct universal suffrage for a people represents what simple 
licentiousness is for the individual. It is the dominion of the 
uistincts erected into a principle and systematically organized. 



The IttW -whicli it cfitablidjfB i» really Uie nioBt efficacioiis instm- 
iiient which it in poswlilc In create to secure to poor Fraiiee the 
liljfrty of ahaudoniiig itst-If to itsnattimlpitssious, without It-ii\'ii]g 
liir tlie diancc of being guided and dirictcd by intelligence. 

Aud this aolt'iuii in'nclaniittion of the reigu of impulse ia 
'iiilr the coiichiHioii which follows from the principle miplied in 
senBUftlisui and iitlHtariaiiism without belief. It is the outcome of 
llii- Ririiaisisance. It does not take any account of public uistruction, 
ly which coutemporarj- Liberalism aceks to etrcngtheii itself, aud 
tc justify its alliance with extreme democracy. People began to 
niah for univei-Bfil suffrage, because it was the popular idea of the 
iky, aiul, after deciding without any thought of what was possible 
for ii, tliey thought by tliis meaus to obtain a just and moderate 
gnvenmicnt. It was then said that the niaBSPH mnet fverywhcre 
In- iiiBtnic'ted, to put them in posseesiou of tlie pnwt;r wisely to 
";iw(n«e their riglit. and to judge of pohtical qucstious. When will 
[wojile learn that thedesiresandintentiouswhich lead them to wish 
A tiling art; not at all that which determincB the effects which that 
thing will produce 1 The real malady of France — that which to- 
Jay condemna it to disorder ijistead of govenmient — \b just that it 
IiMrpci-ivod an education which has given it the habit of reckouiug 
wily im its own desires. If fear does not lead it to submit to the 
cumiiinndments of a director, it conceives nothing wiser than to give 
nji Irouhliug itself about what it ouglit to beheve. Its first 
Iniriiiwffl is to employ all its facnlties to conmder what will give 
niiJtrt jileasures, and then to calculate what it ought to do to 
profuri; them. 

France reasons like a man who, i\-ith liis eyes shut, takes it in 
tiii Iicud to Jly up to the moon because he knows of notliing eI«o 
Kkely to be more agreeable. He then Jippenls to science to judge 
if tlie vials of Cyi-ane de Bergerac. or the hollow cannon ball of M. 
JhIm Vernes, or the extemiinittion of all thi- iidveittftrieH who oppose 
lus jiriijfct, be the means of getthig to the moon. Before ealeu- 
lating what precautions it nuist take, and what iuBtmctions it ia 
iiBcuwury to give, so that the sovereignty of the uiasses may juo- 
TOCf the best rcHults, both in the way of pnideuce and jnstice, 
'liat the bcBt of onr moderate Kepublicaus couhl desire, it will not 
w: ViToug to examine what is possible or impossible in the matter 
"fpuhHc ijistructiou : what it is that the maiiseH, with all our 
tff'irta, cannot be, and cannot fail to be. MHiatever we do, the 
rnafflw will always be, for a large part, composed of young 
I'tqile without experience, iind, for a larger part still, of working 
pt'Dple and peasants, absorbed in the material necesMties of life. 
.Vumerieal majorities will never attain to legislative wisdom, which 
if the highest stage ()f intellectual development. They will never 
Ure ihf #ip«'culntive tliought which can sufliciently free itself tVoni 


pei-sonal feeling, so as to 1)6 able duly to weigh the whole of the 
forces and opposing tendencies, and to seek impartially that 
balancing power which can reconcile them. The masses, at the 
most, can only have high intelligence such as we find among 
young men. They are governed by their peraonal feehngs, by 
their appetites, and by the hatreds which come from their cir- 
cumstances in life. All the knowledge wliich it is possible to 
give them Avill only turn to a kind of instinctive Machiavelism. 
They will only use it to desti'oy what at the moment is most 
opposed to their desires, or to give the strongest impulse in favour 
of what they like. Educated, or not educated, they will be indiffe- 
rent to the ballot box; and if they come out of their apathy, it will 
be to vote for Barodet or to go to Paray-le-Monial ; to put into 
power the demagogue who vn\[ most flatter their desires and their 
hatreds, or the nominee of the cure, who wdll lead them by means 
of superstition, or the Bonapartist candidate, who appeals both 
to their distrust of the cure and their fear of the Radical. 

As to the general will, which people pretend to discover 
by universal suffrage, it belongs to the same category as the 
philosopher's stone. Of what will do tliey speak? To-day, 
the masses wish a man or a govenmient because they expect 
what is impossible ; and to-morrow, when they see that they have 
not obtained the impossible satisfaction of all their desires, they 
wish the contraiy of what they washed the night before. The 
Empire has made an excellent caricature of direct universal 
suffrage, by reducing the role of the sovereign people to merely 
deciding by ph'lnscite on the iniler who pleases their humour at 
the moment. Under the Ij^ng appeamnce of democracy, we have 
legal juggling, systematic managing of the ignorant by cunning 
or by fanatics, all power constantly put up to auction between the 
extreme champions of democracy and those of the Church, between 
the town clubs and the clerical salons. In the present state of 
France, the direct vote of the masses tends simply to organize an 
antagonism of the peasants and the working classes ; to exasperate 
the warfare of opposed selfishness, and of the blind leadersliips, 
which succeed each other in turns ; to deliver up the countiy, as 
\\\^ case may be, to Legitimacy or Socialism, or let an Emperor 
sidle into power between these two impracticable follies, and 
watli official candidatures trick away universal suffrage, as the 
clerical and the democratic leaders, too. have tricked it away 
through the hnUeihi de Uaie. 

Such is the system of government which has been adopted by 
the party of reason and liberty, in France. It has its origin in 
their despair of l)eing able to maintain the cause of the Radicals 
against the pai-tisans of the two di\nne rights. At the same time 
that moderate Liberalism was uniting ^^^th Radicalism, the Liberal 



TSafiervatives wun; coniiiig tw tt'rme with tlio duriual Legitimists. 
The fiifliati mi thci Left, and tbtju un tlie liiglit, is but oue drama 
ill two acts. Sliicli lias l)t!i!u said on the iiicuacing rctuniH of fhc 
ilcctioiie ill the large towns, and every party hae duiiw its best 
lu IucIl- tlifrir significauco from itself as well as from tithei*. 
Monarcltista, in tlieir eageinesa to tuni them into an argument for 
Iteif favourite sohtnie of a ulerical monarchy, huvi- aacribed 
them to 3L Thifra'e tergivf rsations and Imprndent conct^dsioiiB to 
K&iiicHlisni. ilodtratf Rf^publicans, with a view to makt- them 
tdl aj^iist the opponents of their own Republican scheme, 
have attrihnt.L-d the tiiujiiph of the Radical cuudidates solely to 
tliu provocations of the Right. But, in my judgment, neither of 
them hn« fairly looked truth iii the face. Tliis uomiuation of 
IIU. Rone, Barodet, and Lockroy has simply demonstrated that 
lliB inaseds i:if our Targe towns have remained what they were on 
till' eve of the Commune, tliat they contume to be canied as much 
ut CTur to the most violent extremes in their choice. It has caused 
the most thoughtless, who have had no consideration of the 
mattiir, aad the most clever, who were too much occupied with 
tlwir Bcheming, to fee! the tei-rible danger of the electoral system 
whioli our Liberals tnaintain in concert with the Radicals. And 
certainly that which has driven the Conservatives of eveiy kind to 
cait their principles overboard, in order to unite with the Ultra- 
luontanee and the Legitimists, is the want of trust which they 
kavi: long felt in respect to universal suflFrage, and which was 
juntifiefl by the votes of our great to^vns. It was the feeluig of 
daily restlessness produced among them by the anxious con- 
wiousiiese of the caprice to which the pi'esent sovereign of France 
is eubjtct. 

I am astonished tliat to foreigners it is difficult to understand 
bow our electoral system presents an obstacle to everj" reasonable 
Bolutiou of oUr social problems. A people cannot exist, if on the 
tTtuf every election thoy are uuceiiain if the next day will not 
«'^ their houses overturned, ^vith all that belongs to them. As to 
Fqik'c. its education renders it incapable of any moderate opinion 
111 nigard to direct universal suffrage. In the press, as well as in 
le.Wembly. there is not to be mot a siugle man who tries to 
takt a position between the two extreme parties, and to rally the 
wisest portion of the Conservatives and Republicans by proposing 
tiJ modify our electonil system without narrowing the constituency. 
Soniu who dislike universal suffrage, dishke it because it signifies 
thu government of the conntiyby the opmious of the whole country, 
and thvy see nothing better to he done than to deliver France 
fmni it«elf, that, in Bpite of our own judgment, it may be placed 
nailer tUt direction of a man, oi- a particular party, by which it 
•nmia not allow it«"lf (.. !>.■ j^.^vnir.,]. Othiis. who «isl. tlwi. 



Fnuico could govern itself, ^vieli to keep iiiiiverBa! suffrage as it iq; 
they would save the couiitiy from deetnictioii by leaving it uoder 
the dominion of iguoi-ant itnpnlses and the transports of chance. 

Notwithstanding the gieat services which M. Tluers has 
rendered to his country, and notwithstanding the respect which 
he deserves, I behevo that he himself contributed to his fell 
by a false movement, or at least that he did not make the move- 
ment which would havc bftved a moderate Republic, and at the 
same time delivered Frauce fi'om the two despotisms that aro 
hanging over it. In his place, I imagine a man tens an optimist 
and more an innovator would have tried, by the same stroke, to 
lessen the anxiety which was ur^ug the Consen'atives towards 
Legitimacy, and to dispel the illusions which made the Liberals 
the advocates of democracy. He could have made a step towards 
the Right Centre by saying to it: "You are right to be dissatisfied, 
but the true danger is not a Repubhc. It is entirely in our 
electoral system, which, imder a Monarchy as well as under a 
Repubhc, always produces the same disorders, the same iiTecou- 
cilable warfare between the revolutionary spirit and the spirit of 
reaction. I am ready with you to seek the means of improviug 
this electoral system." He might then have turned to the Left, 
and said : " Take care, you wish to maintain miiversal suffrage as 
it is. The threatening elections will not on that accoimt cease 
to be threatening, and to give rise to fears that one day or 
another we shall be carried into the opposite extreme. If you love 
the Republic, then help me to make its continuance possible. The 
first object is to prevent France from coming under the dominioji 
of a party, and from being deprived of the liberty to make it« 
laws according to reason, and this can only be done by rescuing 
the empire from the sovereignty of the impulsive multitude." 

Was it not, for instance, possible to offer a scheme for the 
transformation of direct universal sutTrage into a system of 
double election — iu other words, to liave maintained an univereal 
franchise, for the appointment of nominees who would choose the 
actual deputies ? ^Vhat we have to fear is not Rachcalisin or 
Socialism properly called, but the spirit of \4oleiice and want of 
foresight — tliat Radicalism, or clericalism, wliich is only an unin- 
telligent passion, often merely the wrath which comes from Iiatred 
and fear. The whole politics of sonic men consist, I may say. in 
bitmg \rith all their might, forgetting that they who bite often 
find themselves bitten, \\'ith a double election, universal suffrage 
would be neither limited nor tunipeivd with, and it would not 
cease to be the expression of all the tendencies of the coimtry, 
Radicalism and Socialism included. Only, instead of expressing 
these tendencies as they are found in the form of hatred and blind 
appetite, it would exprfRs tliom in tin- furm of wnshee that lmv« 


a clearly diacenied, and by those most capable of uiiderstaud- 
ing them. Uuder ewcli a eystem of ^ilection, tho masses of this 
coniitry aad of the towns L-ould, at loast, use their votes to decide 
according to their omth feeliiiga tlie uuly question wliich they 
«re capable of deciding. They would he able to cliooae among 
the men who are personally kuowii to tbein, aud who undei-staad 
better tlian they do the algebra of politics. The different interests, 
u well as instincts, would tlii-Ti be sure of ba\-ing representatives 
in the bosom of our legislative aescmbliee ; but these repreeenta- 
tires would be nomiuated by delegates more eiiligliteued titan the 
manea; by men sufficiently intelligent to underataiul Ibo pro- 
graumefl of the candidates, and perhaps to feel that in the moi-al, 
M well as in the physical, all exaggerated action provokes a re- 
sction. At any rate Fmnce might have a chance of being 
governed by the Republicnns, who know tliat. in voting Barodet. 
tiiey kill the Republic, or by the RadicaK who know that, by 
diowing themselves too indulgent to the inurderere of hostages, 
loey prepare pilgrimages to I'aray-le-Monial, or by the Orleanists 
and the Liberals, who know that by going to Paray-le-Monial, or 
Krohsdorf, they prepare the very contrary of what the Jbiuarchiets 

It is true that a few months ago the great Conservative league 
*» upparently dissolved, and that a majority in tlio Assembly 
decided for a moderate republic. This was certainly an act of 
wiBdom and self-control on the part of the extreme Left as well as 
"flhe lUght Centre; and, as far as the party leaders are concerned, 
it i» a most hopeful symptom in them of parliamentary experience. 
Tliey have become conscious of the Bonapartist sword hanging 
OVCT them, and have simk their differences iu a common resolve to 

* I kaov, iDileeit. another metbod which aci^mi mora Bimple, and prolisb!; nioro 
'Ondoiiii: that would be to roatrict the fruDfh<Ec lo men or fort; jicura at leant. Tba 
[■n of jotms nirn is urllon, and eonuitel boloaf^g lo the afcA. "The old mao," 
BoBBf, -ttmaiert Ibo put and tbo pronont, nnil sops bofombniid what will sjidufy 
•PC** pMlic*." VIoleQf" i« tho i^harfictoiinlie o[ jonth. At forty, u man niny retail) 
>« Ina aod batroda which ko had at twsntv. But he ha« livod. Ha Uaa boon com- 
pdU Id we that lua viU ia not tho only ons upon earth. And in tbo menauro tbnt hs 
li litalligiiDt, ho reatCB to bvliore, na Dsulon did, that thu art of Buccou lies [□ having 
■W>n,uu1 atiU onertcy. Bipurtenne prDvea to hiiu tbut it waa iuleed OumipotoncD -who 
■Hwat ■■ niBal oot do to othem vrbat ws would not likeilone [oourBelToa. Bat auob a 
plu ii not Ekel J lo ftnd fnvour. It is a atrikingfaottbatainidiit tboDumorona eloctotnl 
"^"Bm which wars propoMd na Iho L'ommitiioTi ef tie TTdi-tg, no mention was made of 
I^Eng^iah aystem of houBeliold lufTnige, a syBtoni ao woU calculnted to put govern- 
■Onl iota the hands of thp laore sober ond exporintced portion of the nation. 

Sodriuht there icaa nioro or leu poril In any attempt to re-model DBiToraBl suffrage; 
aid nan ja the palmy days of M, Thiers'^ influenco, such a plan as I hute described, 
"wM not hate boon sutp to saccMxI. Still it was worth tho tryiuB. wero it only lo pTo 
lb I'Mntf^ bruaibint; time, and allow her to reconaidor her position, and rorlna her 
sTitotU ol public adueadon. But probably It. Thiurs was afraid of losing luoro ratoB on 
(^Lsftthan Iw could hare gained on the Ritiht. However thia may be. he didnotbiliK 
(•Hiitt Ih* feara which wsro ilriTing tfaa Liberal ConaerratiToa to purthosa at the 
«p«nie Al thiiir principlM the support of the Legitimists, and ho was overthrown by the 
waKtlMi which tDodonIo Lib*mli«m hna provoked by its own allianco with the Ratlicnl 



lie witififipd witli tlif Itest comprtunise puesililf. But, M'itliont 
making light in tho least of the now pruspeotB wliich arc thiiB 
opened to Franco, rmf cannot liolp onxitniBly asking if the wiadom 
of the leaders has made, or is likely to make, any serious (:ha.uge 
in the moral etati: of the people. The bulk of peasants and 
operatives may fall back into one of their periodical dnmbers ; and 
the more prudential thinkers may hove a new lease of office. 
Nevertheless, lie mtist be bold who could suppose that the teal 
danger is past. The republican party, dormant or awake, stfll 
bears in its constitution tlie curse of if^ birth and education. It 
has been fed on dangerous promises; and when the staff at it« 
head takes to rational counsels, the rank and file are ever tempted 
to mutter, "Is this a republic?" As to the Conservative element, 
the peasants, they are fated by their intellectual condition, to 
march in the wake of the curt", or vote for the Xapoleonic tra- 
dition, which is the only bit of romance in their life. Worst of 
all, direct universal suffmge continues to be the law of the land ; 
and with such an instrument, tlie irreooncilablf tendencies iato 
which the national character has been eplit are but too likely to 
burst out into practical consequences. 

On the whole, from the Renaissance downwards, French histoiy 
reads like a progressive demonstration of the fact that a nation 
camiot cohere together \vithont a public traditionary conception 
of necessity- and duty, and that it cannot progress without suffi- 
cient latitude being left for growing knowledge and the mi- 
satis&ed wants to protest against, and ask for a revision of, the 
adopted rales of life. Unfortunately, to-day, as much as ever. 
tm traditional conception of necessity and duty exists in Frftnce, 
c.xc^ept under a form which makes it an intolerable obntacle to pro- 
gress : as much as ever it is Roman Cathohcism alone wliieh sliapes 
the moml sense of the young, teaching them, as soon as they are 
made conscious of their liabihty to err and bruig evil upon tliem- 
sfilvea, that the means of salvation does not consist hi refurniing 
ourselves — in developing and correctiiig our own evcrj'-day con- 
science, our own sense of mane position and the best rule of life — 
but in being placed under the tutelage nf a direetov. From the 
uifiuenue of such a training no one escapes, ueitlier the unbeliever 
nor the behever. And on the two nnavoithible questioiis : how td 
account for all that man is subject to see and feci in spite of him- 
self, and how best to nsi; his active powera to guard himself from 
what is unbearable, or procure what is uidispensable — all thf inde- 
pendent thought r>f Franco has only issued into the conflicting 
creeds wo have Been at work. Everything or nothing — white or 
black — order through the suiTender of reason and liberty, or liberty 
through the lawless sway of the impulses; tliis is the dilciom&a^— 
which the niitiojiiil i-liaractcr has beuU shut up by the dialee^^^H 


facts. After three centuries of reflection, trials, and study, the 
two opposite tendencies which began at the Renaissance have 
amply erected themselves into dogmatic principles. Moral servi- 
ligm has found its scientific fonnula in the Syllabus, while the art 
of arriving at satisfaction by renouncing all theology has been 
skilfully systematized in Fourierism and Positivism. 

This is not veiy cheeiing. For until the Liberal forces have 
renounced their alUance with Radicalism, the Conser\'ative 
interest will coalesce vntii Ultramontanism ; and with such coaU- 
tions, the country runs the risk of ha^^ng no alternative but an 
intolerable monarchy or a disorderly repubUc, both of which, 
after a period of anarchy, will bring it back under the booted 
heel of an emperor, a Bonaparte, or some other. The seed of the 
Caesars is not yet exhausted. 

Is it not possible to arrest that fataUty ? To give a positive 
answer would be bold in any one who is not a prophet nor the son 
of a prophet. This alone seems pretty certain, that it cannot be 
arrested as long as by the side of the clerico-legitimist tradition, 
there is only a LiberaUsm which decides for indifferentism, and an 
absolute laisser^faire in the matter of reUgious education. The 
eril is altogether moral, and demands a moral remedy. If France 
indeed is to have a breathing time, let her thinkers turn it to good 
account ; let them look to the baneful direction which the Church 
and lay philosophy of the country are giving to the instincts and 
minds of the people. 



DEC. 9/A. — We left Bombay soon after 10, Mr. Le Mesurier, 
the agent of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway, accom- 
panying us as far as Callian (wla^i-e a biunch goes ofifto Poonah) 
and giving us much valuable infoi-mation. 

Some of the ^■ie^vB before you leave the low ground are en- 
chanting. One of a eingidarly beautiful mountain, the site of an 
liistorical fortrcBs, seen over a foreground of water aud wide 
levels studded with palm trees, dwells especially in my memory. 
The first station at which we stopped beyond the suburbs of 
Bombay was Tanna. 

This is the place alluded to by Sir Bartle Frere, who in his 
book on " Indian Missions" saj-s : — 

"An officer, Coloiiel Douglas, who hi 1808 served on outpost duty at 
Tanna, twenty miles uoi-th of Bainbay, then the iioithem frontier of the 
British poHsessions in Western India, lived to coimnand fifty years later 
as brigadier at Pesliawur, a frontier station more than a thousand miles as 
the crow flies, ui advance of his qumtera as an ensign. Almost the whole 
of the intermediate tenitoiy had in tlie meantime fallen imder the rule, 
more or less dii-ect, of the British crown." 

Beyond Callian the ascent of the Thull Ghaut commences, and 
a noble piece of eugiueering it is. Fine forests of teak border 
the road on each side for some way up. You understand of course 
that at this season almost every tree lias got its leaves, though 
very few arc hi flower. There is one leafless giaut amongst these 



^TTCtts, with wliiti- aud ghostly bmuchc^ tippetl mth flower buds, 
whose nanip 1 have uot yot discovered. 

Oil our way up I saw one of tlioso jiuiglc fires to which my 
attention was calf<.-d at diuiier laet nig;lit, aB illustratiQg a 
ptiasagu in the Uistury of the Slahrattiis : — 

"Tlie ftlahoQipdaiiH, whilst eshanstiug tlieitiaelfea, were gradually exdtiiiff 

tWt turliiilent predatoiy spirit, wliich, tliouyh For ages siuothered, 

1 the lliiiclou nativedof Maharnalitm; in this manner the contention 

t«Wtit ii 

i*iin«>rora etiiTed those latent embei-a, till, like the parched ffrass, 
knifleil auiid the fotvats of the Syhudree Mountains, they bui'^t foith in 
«[niadiiig flame, and men nfnr off wondered at the couilagTation."^ 
Aniveil at the top we oauie to a bare upland region which 
»*i uot without curtain features of reacmblance to my familiar 

Fsr away, however, on either aide stretched outliers of the 
Obauta, long reaches of level ridge, on which, as on a uecldace, 
were strung, at iiiter%'als. peaks, or wliat would have been peaks, 
if Mine giant had not out off their points with his sword. Near 
NsBsick. where Sir G. Campbell wished, not witliout ha^ig a 
good deal to say for his idea, to place the capital of India, 
them is a remarkable gmup of these strangely shaped lulls. 

Soou after we passed the station fur that place, and croKsud the 
infant Gotlavery, it grew dark, and we saw nothing more for 
(iiuuy hours. AVhen we woke on the raoniing of the ll>th, we 
had lelt behhid Kaudetsh and Berar, and were iu the heart of 
the Central Provinces. We had ^missed the groat junction of 
Bhosawiil, whence a line runs to Nagpore, through the Umtawuttee 
witton diatrivt. ^Ve had missed Kuiidwah, whence a line is being 
ooustructed to Hulkar'e capital of Indore, and were far north ot 
the Taptee. 

The uperatiouB of washing and dressuig were hardly over when 
WB readied Stihagpore, the breakfast station, and saw to the south 
the fine range of the Satpoora, and the Mahdeo group, near the 
new StuiitArium of Paclimurree, for more information about which 
•w Forsyth's "Highlands of Ceiiti-al Lidia," which is somctliing 
very much better than a mere record of sport. 

Wo are now in the great Nerbudda valley, upon secondary 
rookfl. The country is covered wth yoiing wheat, as we saw the 
plain between Abydos and the Nile. 1 obseire, too, some flax just 
wiuuig into flower. Other crops there are, wliicli I have not 
yet uuide out. The station gardens are perfectly lovely. One of 
the CtmeoleuUiceir, which covcni ull the buildings and is in full 
f)iiin:r, is a great feature. The country is not unlike what the 
Btuince would be if thinly scattered mangoes aud still more thinly 
vcnttcrad palms {Fhumir ti/liKslrui) were substituted for its fonnal 
HUM of poplnre. 

(Jmiit DiilT'3 " nirtiory of Ibo MiiUrattai." Vol. i. 


I have jiist, by a judiciously planned raid at one of the stations, 
gathered the Mysore thorn {Ccesalpinia sepiaria) which grows, in 
great quantities, all along our track, and looks as the laburnum 
would look, if its flowers were in a spike instead of being 

As we advance, we see the Vindhya range to the north, and 
cross the Nerbudda, here a river of moderate size, very miUke the 
mighty flood which we left at Broach. 

The country gets more wooded, and several tanks are passed, 
with picturesque buildings on their banks. The Satpoora are still 
to the south of us, and quite close there is a small and singularly 
rugged ridge belonging to their system, and marking the site of 
Jubbulpore, which we reach between twelve and one, having 
traversed 614 miles since we left Bombay — a Uttle more than the 
distance from London to Inverness. 

Railway traveUing in Europe would be a very different thing 
from what it is, if one could sleep as well as we did last night, and 

wash like civiUzed beings in the morning. R tells me that in 

America these things are much better managed than even here. 

It is deUghtfiilly cool — quite a different cUmate from that below 
the Ghauts. We slept on sofas and our mattresses, in the ordinary 
Cashmere sleeping dress of this region, imder a light blanket, and 
towards morning the addition of a railway rug was pleasant. 
The dust is our gi-eat enemy, and from it it is vain to fly, so we 
pass much of our time on the platfoim in front of our carriage 
and see the country' admirably. When we retreat into our saloon, 
and its blue windows are shut, we see the world as Renan, iii a 
deUcious passage, says the author of the " Imitation " saw it, 
"revetu d'uue teinte d'azur comme dans les miniatures du 
quatorzieme siecle." 

The houses of the peasantry, on which my eye has fallen, since 
we got into the Centml Provinces, are smaller and poorer than 
those I chanced to observe in Guzerat or the Mahratta Country. 
•* May Heaven defend us from the Evil One, and from " hasty 
generalizations I 

At Jubbulpore begins the East Indian Railway, and the stations, 
for some reason Avhich I cannot yet fathom, become gardenless. 

We have now (3 p.m.), a range of low hills on our right wliicli 
connects the Satpooiu with the Rajmahal range, to the south of 
the Ganges. On our left is the prolongation of the Vindhya 
moiuitains, which is commonly known as the Kymore Hills. 

The streams we cross still run to the Nerbudda, but soon we 
sliall come to the water-parting, which sepamtes the basin of that 
river from the basin of the Ganges and its tributary the Sone. 

Gradually the two ranges approached, and we ran on through 
a valley that reminded me of a Higliland strath, as the tempera- 



toruaf tlie Decenil:er evening did of August inBoes-shire. It was 
(Inrk liefore we reached Sutna, the station near wliicli Geueral 
Cnnciogbam reci^ntly made the i-omarlcable Buddhistic discoveries 
wliich I nieiitioin.-d in my addifea to the Orieutaliat Congrese last 
S^teaibcr. By half-past ten we were at Goveninieiit House 
ill Anahaliad, hanng travtraed some 830 miles since we ran 
out of Bombay — aometliiiig like the distance from Briiidisi to 

Dte. lltk. — The morning was given to Wsita and conversation, 
iifti.Twluch I went tii see the procuudings of thu High Court, 
vhere Special Appeals were being tried. In the afternoon a 
plrtT of 08 \-isited the Fort, which stjinds near the Confluence of 
the Jnmna with the Ganges. All Confluences in India are more 
01 IwBS sacred, hut tins one is particularly bo. both nvera being 
iwly, and every morning thousands of persons come to bathe iji 
liw woteni over wliich wc look. 

The sunset, as seen from the ramparte, was fine, and wc had 
*otiiuthing veiy like the Egyptian after-glow, under the crescent 
moon, from the balcony of one of our companions in the Malwa, 
nho resides here. 

Of the various objects of interest in the Foi-t, that wliich I was 
inoct glad to see wan the pillar datiug from the age of Asoka, say 
BjC. 250, one of the oldest architectural monuments in Lidia. 
Tfoij will find it figured in " Ferguseou's Handbook." Curious, too, 
wa« tlif stump of the sacred banian, on which the Cliinosc pll- 
gtim. nioueu Tlisang, looked in the seveutli century. 

Dec. 12//i.— -A pretty long walk in the cold, crisp monuiig took 
mp over admimble roads made of kunlair, a material of which wo 
have all heard, but wliich I first here actually see, to the house of 
a waident who kindly shows me liis whole establishment. I see the 
Rtebleii, the cattle, tlit- sheep, the fowls, the wheat fields, the 
BwimiDing hath, and whatever else is chaiaeteristic of a pi-os- 
penHU Anglo-Indian nijnage in these part*. Last, not least, 
I walk over the garden, on which its owner bestows great 

There I come to know the Mhowaf'Casnt'a lati/olta), one of the most 
imp'>rtaiit of Indian tieos, and see too the tassclled Diiranta, the 
large Chinese jasmine, the Peacock flower (Poynl^ajia pulcherrlma), 
ihe QniiMjualiF. anutlier fuvounte .\iiglo-India shmb, with mucli eW. 
I have explained t(j me Uie method by which turf is formed and 
kopt aljve in this tliirsty land, and am taught to diBciiminato 
between some of tlio more important foods of the people — the 
pnlvc call'id gram (Cker Arieiiwim, whence tlie nicknamu of Cicero). 
the millet (Patk-Ulai-ia »etacm). biowu as Bajra. &c, 

TliOii tli« diiRctilties which attend ^Tiie, pench, and English 
melon culture in tliis climate are explained to me, and I learn by 


taste the merits of Hihiscm Sitbdatifa, a Malvaceous plant, whose 
calyx, strange to say, makes excellent jam. 

After breakfast comes more political talk with the Lieutenant- 
Governor of the most instructive kind — ^\vliile the afternoon is 
given to the native toAvn, wli,ere I have, under the most admirable 
auspices, a whole succession of peeps into the life of the people. 
I see the small stores of the pa-vvnibrokers, cliiefly in silver orna- 
ments. I sec a lapidary cutting gems with bow and wheel. I 
see cowries used as change, forty-eight going to the anna, which 
is equivalent to l^d. I see the sweetmeat shops, and toy shops, 
and guitar shops, and a manufactory of lac bmcelets. Lastly, I 
see a curious Uttle scene. A weaver has bought five-shillings* 
worth of gold, and wants it made into a nose-ring. He covenants 
with a working jeweller to make it — he paying the jeweller 
about a penny for his labour, which is to last an hour — ^the em- 
ployer sitting by all the wliile and watching, in the attitude of a 
cat, that none of his gold be purloined — an arrangement by 
which he also gets the benefit of the jeweller's fire for an hour on 
a December afternoon. I first see the gold in the shape of a 
pea, then I see it assume the shape of a small bar. As we pass 
homeward, it has become a completed nose-ring, for which, having 
made the weaver underetand, through my guide, that the transac- 
tion vnH be largely to the advantage of all concerned, I give seven 
shillings and carry it off" in triumph. 

Liexorable night came upon us long before my curiosity was 
satisfied, and yet I have been told ten times over that there is 
nothing to see in Allahabad. 

LuCKXOW, Dec. Idth. — A journey of 165 miles, much of it per- 
formed by night, took me to the capital of Oudh, via Cawnpore, 
where I stayed long enough to see what has given the place its 
dismal celebrity. 

I have been refreshing my recollections of those sad days by 
George Trevelyan's eloquent book, but you would hardly thank 
me for recalling the details of one of the most mireUeved tragedies 
in EngUsh histor5\ 

The scenes of some of its most hideous passages are veiled by 
luxuriant gardens, to wliich wise local regulations have affixed a 
semi-sacred character. 

" The towor has sunk in tlio castle moat. 
And the cushat warbles her one clear note 
In the elms that grow into the brooding sky, 
Where Anstice sat long ago waiting to die." 

I spent most of my time at Cawnpore in the house which once 

belonged to our friends the H 's, a roomy, pretty bungalow 

— ^that is, being intei-preted, a villa in wliich screens and curtains 
largely do the work done by partition walls in temperate cUraates. 



0)1 either side lie wide BpaccBof turf — what was hia rose garden 
on thin, and hers on that. Both are still kept up, more or less, 
liwt iu this climate the plant* aoon want renewing. 

From the broad verandah behind tho dra\\'ing-n>om the oyo 
niiigcB over a vast plain, wiiicli, but for its atmoapliere and colonr- 
iBg, might be any part of the left bank of the Danube below Pesth. 
Bctwfen tile house, however, and that plain spread the broad 
waters nf the Ganges, comparatively scanty at tins Ecaxon, I need 
hanlly say, but in the mins tliinking notliing of inundating 
twenty square miles on its northern shore. 

Right below the vei-andah is a backwater, along the margin of 
wiiich had collected in great quantities the flowers of the Tagften 
tnonnio*, a sort of tall marigold, very saerod here. 

TLese liad been ofl'ered to the hallowed stream by the devotees 
uta batbing station just above tlje upper end of the garden, and 
on the backwater. From that bathing station a hnig wooden 
bridge leadfi to a low islet of shingle, upon which many Brahmins 
bad erected each his own little sacred batliing-shed. Beyond 
WM another branch of the river, and yet beyond a further sliingh; 
Wi!t and ttie deep water channel of the hour, down which an 
uuconthly shaped boat now and then glided. 

ify attention was called to the proceedings of a party on the 
fiirllier margin of the deep water channel, and through a telescope 
! saw them making an'angcments for burning a body, to which, 
*m long, the slowly ourliug smoke showed tliat they had set fire. 
Here, iu Lucknow, wo have been the guests of the Judicial 
Cuminis^oncr, and have seen very fairly, thanks to hira, all the 
most important poijits in tliis huge place. 

There is little very good in the Avay of architecture. The beat 
boildings are two royal tombs, and the Imaiubarra, a huge edifice 
in the fort, wliich is now converted into a depot fur ordnance. 
Other things, such as the Great Mosque, look imposing at 
A distance, but are seen, when one gets near, to be poor and 

The tiist^mc sites connected with the Mutiny are of the highest 
inttruBt, and here, though God knows the tragedy was deep 
»*'™gh, it wa« not the unreliei'nl tragedy of Cawnpore, 

I wiali our friend G could have gone with me over the 

Swdency. I tliiuk even he would have admitted that liis 
coaiitrymeu, although they are not much leas apt than th<.-ir 
nnghbottm to get into scrapes, liave a marvelloiis genius for 
^ting out of them. 

The niiuH liave been left., most wisely, just as they were after 

tlio rtonn had swept by ; but tablets fixed hero and there mark 

tl» most famous spots — Johannes's House, tlic BnilUe Guard-gate, 

iko room where Sir Honry Lawrence died, &c. Here, too. tliu 



ficenes of the death-struggle have been veiled in gardens. A 
model in the Museum (or in the Vernacular, the House of 
Wonders), hard by, is said accurately to represent the ground as 
it was Avhen the conflict commenced. 

I know scarcely any city of the second order wliich can vie 
with the capital of Oudh in the beauty of its parks. Stockholm 
and Copenhagen no doubt suipass it ; but I do not remember any 
other place of the same size wliich does. 

To the finest of these parks is attached the name of Sir Charles 
Wingfield, who was Chief Commissioner here, and who sat for 
Gravesend in the Parhament of 1868-74. 

Thither I went one day under the guidance of the Director of the 
Horticultural Gardens, and saw many new trees, amongst the most 
noticeable of which were the Bael {^Egle Marmelos)^ so important 
medicinally, the fragrant sandal- wood, and Bavhinia purpurea with 
its superb flowers and scimitar-like pods. It is strange that, 
although not one single tree which I saw is English, the general 
effect of the whole, when palms are not in view, should be 
precisely that of a cai*efully-planted EngUsh arboretum in which 
pines are not grown. 

Very instructive also was a visit to the Horticultural Gardens, 
where I became acquainted with the Sfil (Shorea rohu8ta\ almost aa 
important in the north as the teak is in the south of India ; with 
the Asclepias gigantea, producing one of the strongest fibres in the 
world; and with the Ccesalpinia Sappan, which gives us the redwood 
of commerce. Carefiil and successful experiments are being^ 
made here in growing delicate plants under houses formed 
of spUt bamboo, with a view to defend them at once against the 
hot winds of summer and the frosts of winter. They are trying 
also the date-palm from the Persian Gulf, and are doing very well 
with the Cintra orange. 

We went over much of the native town with the superintendent 
of police, who keeps a population of 270,000 in order with 700 
constables. We saw many of the shops, and lamented the way 
in which the jewelleiy is being spoiled with a view to meet a 
demand which has arisen in England for a very uninteresting 
kind of bangle. Some of the plate is good, and pieces of rude 
but veiy effective enamel can be picked up. 

We attended a gathering of pawnbrokers, who sat in conclave 
daily to have articles brought to them for purchase or h}T>otheca- 
tion. The chief of them showed me a veiy large diamond, for 
wliich he asked 20,000 rupees, and it was ob^^ouR that his 
transactions were on a great scale ; yet his income tax, even 
when the rate was 3|^ per cent., was only 225 rupees. It was 
amusing to see, as we entered the little courtyard, the family cow 
— ^kept not for use but for luck. 


Many «>f the Mahometans here bolong to tlio Sliiah seel,, &» did 
thp royal family, and tliat sect, has possfiHBiijii of the Oveat 
Hoaqne. 1 did not ob9er>-e any difference in its arrangement^B 
frtm thoeo of tb« Sooneoe. 

We were mpt iii one of the narrow 8tro«t« by a nioBt piotnrcsqiie 
rtiiag of camelfl, attended by Afghans, who were bringing down 
ted fmita and PorBian cats for sale from beyond the paseee. 

At Lticfcnow- and Ctiwupore conversation turned a good deal on 
the events of 1857 ; on the sort of nutivoB who were likely to be 
iwefiiliii rjtivcniraent employ; on the* position of theuucovenanted 
service with reference to leave rules and pensions ; on the gradual 
ditxiipoarance of the pi-ofessional criminal class in tliis place, 
which had been abnormally de^'eloped in the evil times before 
anwsjitinii ; on tlie transfer of a considerable part of the popula- 
tion to Hyderabad in tlie Deccan, and to Calcutta, when a mon- 
wdered state of thingn supereeded the old days of anarchy and 

Hk. \lth. — We left Lncknow yesterday in exceUent company, 
and thanks to the courtesy of the Oudli and H<:>hilcund Railway 
Mthorities, weroftble to getthu greatest advantage from it. going 
m ah(>a(t of tlie firdinary train, and dropping down as from the 
likmds in the midst of an Oudh village, over which we walked, 
ftbeerving the ehrine under the Peepul tree, the gathering of 
people in the httlf marketplace, the extreme cleanliness of even 
the forest hovels, fresh plastered at frequent intei-vals, some- 
^iMeven daily, by the women. The vast majority of the hou»e.% 
Were of mnd, but Uote and there waa a dwelling of brick. Several 
of those had door« of carved wood, witli the fish of the expelled 
>lyna«ty npon them, doors which may have once oruaraentoil 
wiie stately maiurfon at Lncknow. The head-man told us that 
Ilia family had bet-n here since the days "f the Delhi emperors. 
It htlnngH to the writer caste, but has gradtially made money. 
anAliiiving bought out some of the old proprietors, now holds 
"nfflwnl land to gire it a local status. 

Hit' conveiwatioti. as we hurried on to ('awnpore, turned oti the 
'IBMfion how far thfHc villages appreciated our rule. " True it is," 
•sid otic of ovir conipariiotis. ■' ever\' man is now secure from the 
"H Tjoltnce and the old oppression, but I doubt whether they did 
"ft like better the former state of things— when the king sent a 
Regiment against a village which did not pay its taxes, 'i'he 
TJllagB know when tlio regiinent was coining, and put its possessions 
iu Beekeeping — then fought the regiment, perhaps Buccessfully, 
Ifniignccessful, if paid up, and waa free from interference forsomo 
/wrs, while the rrnops were coercing other villages. Now we 
talw far li.'w at a time, and in a peaceful way. but the idea of 
fflstanee to uft is ridieulous, and our tfix-collectors. although 



their deiuaiidH are moderate and their methods merciful, nre y»t 
inexorable as fate." 

We crossed a large piece of land covered with low ecnib. " WJiat 

is that ;" I asked. "That," said C "is a Dftk jungle (liutfa jmn- 

rlota); PulhiB or Pallas they call it in the south. It has been said that 
this tree gave its name to the battle of Plassey, which was fought 
in a DSk jungle." The Mght of this, the first piece of jujigle I had 
seen in the north, made me understand Jacquemont's disappoint- 
ment with liis first Indian jungle. He would not have been dis- 
appointed if he had begun with Klatheran. 

On the Oudli and Rohilcund line we returned to the station 
gardens, of whieli we lost sight at Jubbulpore. In more wa.fB 
than one. indeed, tliis Uue has profited by the experieuce of its pre- 
deccsaoi«, and pridea itself upon its accommodation for native 
travellers being particularly good. Amongst other boons to them, 
it lias iidopted a plan of setting down and taking np passengers at 
eonveiiicnt places where there are no stations ; a proceeding for 
whioh its very slow rate of speed gives great facilities. 

At C'a^vnpo^e we again joined the East Indian, and went by a 
ver}- slow train to Agra, reaching Sir J. Strachey's camp about 
midnight, where we found our tcnt« pitehed, and all comfortably 
arranged. The thermometer at this bcaeon falls very low during 
the night in Northern India. As we passed to the station at 
Lneknow, we saw them collecting the ice which had fonned in 
shallow pans put out for the purpose : and here, under canvas, it is 
very de*adedly cold. 

During the journey from Cawnpore to Agra, I heard a point 
beaiing on the endless coutiTiversy about Indian public worlcs 
more forcibly stated tlian hitherto. " It ia all very well." said one of 
my fellow-travellers, for people at home to say, • Don't make aao- 
gnine estimates ; ' but suppose we don*t make sanguine eetimatee, 
what happens f By no possibility can we keep the amoimt of oar 
estimates secret. It gets out, and then every native subordinate 
does his very utmost to take care that he and his work well np to 
our estimate. Making sanguine estimates is absolutely ueoeesarj' 
if we mean to keep down actual costs." 

Aou, [>fe. IWA. — Tliis camp Ul'e is an admirable iiistitutiitu. As 
noon as weather and the state of bumness permit, the Indian ma^ 
nate of every degree leaves his nsiml abode, and starts to hispect 
liis county, pro\'iuce, or kingdom, as the case may he. Sir J. 
Stmchey, for instauce, will for the next two or three months b« 
moving slowly over his wide dominiona which are about us 
popiUons as Great Britain. Soon after sunrise, he drives or rides 
out, examines schools, gaols, lunatic asylums, remains of oiktitjui^ 
which are ui ne4?d of repair, and so forth, retnniiug to a l^H 



breakfast between ten and eleven. Then come a number (jF hciure 
Ji,-vi>1i^il to steing a variety of ofGciak, and to carrying on the 
ordinary duties of government, while the evening is given chic-fly 
lo receiving at dinner the principal local officialH, who come into 
camp from all the districts round to see the Lieutenant-Governor, 
tin^ uftrn to settle by a short conversation mattem which might 
titiierwi»e have involved much loss of time in corrcapon deuce. 
Tuii will have obecrved that we have stayed a good deal in the 
Urge towns with judicial officere. They are the only persons of 
jMvnlion who at this time of the year are stationary. The executive 
iifficcrs are nearly all on the wing. 

The camp is a pretty sight. A broad street of tents leads t& 
the pavihon of the Lieutenant-Governor, over wliich a flag flies, 
and in wliich his guests assemble. For the rest, everjiiiing goet^ 
nn SB in a large well-appointed house in Europe. More than thirty 
peo|i!c sat down the other night to duiner. 

On the 17th there was a formal reception of native noblemen and 
officials, each of whom, from the least to the greatest, advanced as 
his name was called- and made liis obeisance. Some of the former 
clara were remarkable for the antiquity of their family — Rajpoots 
of the Rajpoots — but iioue of much pohtical note. 

The chief objects of interest in and near Agra are the fort, 
SikimdKL the tomb of Itmad-ood-Dowlah. and the Taj. 

Oiir fin<t view of tlie fort was a veiy striking one. We saw it 
iu the early morning, ere yet the mist had cleared away, over a 
foregronnd of waste interfipcrHed with Mahometan tombe. The 
k-antiful ontlinos of what wp afterwards learned to call the Pearl 
Mdsijiic eeemed really built up of pearl, and stood out clear and 
dirtiuct, while the two ends of the huge pile over which it lises 
fadeil away in the darknesfl. 

Later, wo went carefully over the whole of this Indian Windsor, 
niiderthe best guidance which Agi-a affords. I was most agree- 
ilily Btirprised — BurpriBed I «ay, because from a perusal of Fergus- 
son'i book. I had been led to mippoBe that wc sliould see much 
nuire Vandalism than now meets the eye. Smce he was here, 
(loreninieiit has taken up ui good earnest the protection of this 
glorions buildiug ; has spent £10,000 most judiciously, and is de- 
tpiTtinied to spend whatever is neccanarj* to remove all removable 
n^schief, and prevent all preventible decay. 

Tile fort was the work of Akbar. one of the few really great 
men of native Indian hiHtoiy, It is a mass of dark red sandstone, 
lattlenuented, aud strong enough in its day, though now of httle 
mflitan.' importance. On this noble foundation Akbar's Bucceaaors 
n-ari'd many lovely buildingR. almost all of white marble. Pre- 
eminent in bennty is the Pearl Mosfiue. to which I have already 
allndeil, and n{ which FergilsBon (to whom pray refer for a com- 


mentaiy ou all I am writing, since I do not attempt to set down 
more than impressions) observes : — 

*' By far the most elegant mosque of this age— perhaps, indeed, of any 
period of Moslem art-^is the Mootee Mesjid, or Pearl Mosque, built by Shan 
Jehan, in the palace of Agra. Its dimensions are considerable, being ex- 
ternally 235 feet east and west, by 190 north and south, and the courtyard 
155 feet square. 

^' Its mass is also considerable, as the whole is raised on a terrace of artifi- 
cial construction, by the aid of which it stands well out from the surroimd- 
iiig buildings of the fort. Its beauty resides in its courtyard, which is 
wholly of white marble from the pavement to the summit of its domes. 
The western part, or mosque properly so called, is of white marble inside 
and out, and except an inscription from the Koran, inlaid with black marble 
as a frieze, has no ornament whatever beyond the lines of its own graceful 
architecture. It is, in fact, so far as I know, less ornamented than any 
other building of the same pretensions, forming a singular contrast with 
the later buudings of this style in Spain and elsewhere, which depend 
almost wholly for their effect on the rich exuberance of the ornament with 
which they are overlaid." 

I was extremely pleased with the Jasmine Bower, the apartment, 
that is, of the favourite sultana, in which everything has been 
done that grace of form, combined with inlaid and polished marble, 
can do for the cage of a pet bird. 

Beautiful, too, are the rooms in which Shah Jehan ended his 
long and disastrous reign. His last sight on earth must have been 
the divine and glorious building, which will keep his otherwise un- 
honourcd memory fresh to all time. 

" Der Mongch orfiihrt or sey auch wor er mag 
Ein letztes Gl&ck nnd oinen lotzteu Tag." 

As I stood looking towards the Taj from the rooms in which 
Shah Jehan died, there came into my mind those other rooms 

which 8 will remember, and which stinick us both so much ; 

the rooms, I moan, in which Philip II. broatlicd his last, with his 
eyes on the altar of the dark Escorial Church. The Mogul, though 
a prisoner, had by much the best of it. 

At Sikuudra is the tomb of Akbar, built by his son. It stands 
in a stately square of gardens, approached by noble though 
partially riiincd gatcAvays, and is, like the fort, built of red sand- 
stone below, and wliite marble above. Here, however, the red 
sandstone is disposed in the most exquisite and uitrieate architec- 
tural forms, while the white marble court, high in air, which sur- 
rounds the cenotaph of the mighty emperor, is a worthy sister to 
the Jasmine Bower and the rooms of Shah Jehan. 

The actual tomb is far below, a plain mass of wliite marble, just 
in the same position as that occupied by the dead monarch in the 
tumulus of Alyattes. Here, in fact, we have the last and glorified 
development of the very same idea which heaped up that mighty 

xotm:js of an Indian journey. 55 

mound on the plain of Sardis, and reared the Pyramids over the 
vaDey of the Nile. 

Dec. 21^. — The tomb of Itmad-ood-Dowlah is one of the earUest 
works in the style of those buildings which lend so much beauty 
to Agra. He was a Persian adventurer, piinie minister of 
Jehangeer, father of the famous Noor Jehan, and giandfathcr of 
her niece, often carelessly confounded with her, ^loonitaza Mehal, 
the lady who sleeps beneath tlie Taj. The tomb of Itniad-ood- 
Dowlah stands in a garden, and may well have been a pleasure 
place for the Uving before it became the last home of the dead. 

Here it was that my attention was first drawn to the distinction 
between the tombs of men and women in this part of the world. 
The former have cai-ved upon them a writing-case, the latter a 
date, to indicate their respective relations as active and passive. 

We have now visited the Taj three times, once in the early 
morning and twice in the afternoon, Ungering on both these last 
occasions to see it ht up, first by the sunset and then by the 
moon, just as we used to do in the case of the Parthenon, when 
we were together at Athens. 

One thinks, of course, of the Parthenon, for it is the one build- 
ing, 80 far as I know, m all the earth, which is fit to be named in 
the same breath as this. 

Nothing that has been written does the Taj any sort of justice, 
and we may wait another 250 yeare for a worthy description, 
milees some one can persuade Mr. Rusldn to come hither and Avrite 
of it as he has written of the Campanile at Florence. ^len who 
can really tell of such things as they desen^e come only at long 

A grand gateway, that would itself be an object of first-rate 
importance in most gi-eat cities, leads into a garden, Avhich is, 
even iu December, supremely lovely — perhaps a quarter of a mile 
iu length by the same in breadth. A long avenue of cypresses, 
separated by a line of fomitaius, wliich only play on groat 
occasions, leads the eye to the foot of the building, wliich rises 
from a vast platfonn of red sandstone. One passes up along the 
fountains, wliile the green parrots, perched on ilie tops of the 
mafises of foliage behind the e}'j)resses, scream to each other, and 
flash hither and thither in the sun. Arrived at the platfonn, you 
see that the Jmmia is flowig beneath, and that either side of the 
platfonn is bounded by a most beautiful mosque — the one for use, 
the other, as being improperly placed A\dth reference to Mecca, 
merely to satisfy the eye. On this first platform stands another of 
white marble, with a minaret of the same material at each comer, 
and out of this, more in colour ]ik(' a snow-peak than anything 
else I e\'er beheld, but of the most exquisite finish and symmetry, 
springs up the wondroiis edifice itself. 


Its general forai is quite familiar to you from photographs or 
dra^\dngp, but I have met with no picture, photograph or drawong 
which at all conveys the impression which words have equally 
failed to render. 

The queen and her husband are buried, as Akbar is, in a vault 
below. It is only their monimients that are above groimd. These, 
as well as the screen surrounding them, are, like everything else 
about the place, in perfect taste, and, Uke most things about it, in 
admirable presei-vation. 

The usual adornments of Agra are the adornments here — ^inlaid 
and perforated marbles ; and here they reach the highest point of 
perfection wliich they have reached in India. 

The last time wo were at the Taj the interior was illuminated 
by Bengal lights, so that we could see all the texts from the 
Koran, in the exquisite Arabic character, which are inlaid over the 

Perhaps, of all the points of view, that from the centre of the 
Western Mosque is the most beautiful, if one goes there just as 
the sunset is flushing the whole of the building, that can be seen 
from thence. 

We spent, the other day, a most instinictive morning in going, 
with a firat-rate settlement officer, over a native village, or joint 
estate, the miit of the comitry for revenue purposes. Our friend 
had arranged eveiything beforehand, so that, when we anived on 
the spot, we were met by nearly all the six head men, or Lumber- 
dars, as they are called, and by most of the sixteen Putteedars, or 
inferior shareholders. There, also, present in the flesh, was a Uve 
Putwarree, or village accoimtant, with the map and all the village 
books, so that we could have explained to us the whole system by 
which the Government demand is regulated, and see at a glance 
the statistics of the place in the English abstract. The village 
wliich we examined contained 2,157 acres, of wliich 935 were 
quite uncultivable, and 1,222 were cultivable. 

We walked over a large part of these last with the people, saw 
the various kinds of land, varying from wretchedly poor fields, 
growing Cassia officinalis (the true senna of our youth — ^not the 
same, by the way, as the Alexandrian senna which we saw in the 
desert near Cairo), to fields covered with splendid crops of young 
com, or old jowaiTce, worthy of the Nile banks. 

These few hours were worth a great deal of reading, even 
although such reading has to be done in Maine's " Village Com- 
munities," which our guide pronounced to be as accurate as some 
of you know it to be interesting and suggestive. 

Another day we went to the gaol, now, unfortunately, rather 
full — crimes against property always here, as at home, being in 


the cloeest relations to the prospcritj' or advereity of the country, 
aiwl the Bi'iigtil ilenmnd hK^-ing this year rained the prices of pro- 
visDnR. In no cmnitty, it was tnily said to rae the other day. 
ia thrn; so iinu'h poverty and ho little destitution as in tliis, iii 
ordinaty tinicB; but tlio margin between a Bufficicncy and famine 
is 80 mnall, the people U^■e bo much from hand to mrmth, that 
aboonnal prices at once prfidiice wide-spread misery. 

Tile most interesting thing in the gaol is the carpet manu- 
factoi^', wliich is rapidly improving — this qxiick-witted. qiiick- 
haaded peoplt? learning to weave with extraordinary facility, and 
die greatest care being now taken to avoid aniline dj'es, and to 
(tick to native patterns. 

It is voxatiouR, though not surprising, to hear that the reetric- 
tionn of eaete prevent any of the Uberated priBoners, whoBe 
anciwtors have not been weavera from time immemorial, carrying 
fjii file trade which they have learnt in prison. 

Thf roRt of luy time in Agra has cliiefly gone in long talks with 
nil manner of people engaged in earrj-ing on the buFinoss of the 
country, from the Lieutenant-Govenior down to yoting men who 
liave just landed in India — a large camp like tliis affording infinite 
bcililivs for hearing all kinds of vie^vs on all kinds of subjects. 

[ am struck by the much greater amount of responsibihty wliich 
is thrown on juniors in the Secretariat here than is tlirown on 
perwns of the same age at home. AVurk is done here by men of 
seven or eight-and-twcnty which no clerk in a Secretarj" of 
Stale's office i\'ould be allo^ved to touch imtil he was a grey- 
haired grandairc at the head of his department. 

Dec. 23n/. — We started yesterday morning, with Sir Jolui 
Strachcy, on a visit to the Maliarajah of Bhurtpore, who had 
invited to liis capital the Lieutenant-Governor and liis guests. 

The journey was accomplished in about an hour, thanks to the 
newly-opened state railway— the firwt railway I have seen on the 
melrL- gauge, whose battles I used to have to fight. 

Soon after Icai.-ing Agra we passed the too famous Salt hedge — 
a Curtoms line, which rans some l.ROO miles across India, like 
auother wall of China. It is formed chiefly of close, nil but ini- 
penetrable masses of thorny plants, and is as efifecHve u barrier as 
ttnpolic)' could desire. I heartily hate it, with all that it repre- 
KOtfc and am very glad that no one ever took to attacking the 
Indiait Goveminciit on tliis point, wlicn I had charge of its 
iatortste in the House of Commons. 

At the frontier of his dominions, some of the Maharajah's officers 

jumcd the train, to bring their mastei's respects to the Lieutenant- 

GoTWnor, and we moved on through a coimtry exactly like that 

yfaad qnitted, for the Bhurtpore State was. during the minority 

IprWCnt ruler, lon^ under Britinh mnnjigenient. Presently 


we cfLiuG to a large jungle. " MTiat are those biuibcs ?" I a 
"Pihi," answered urie of my compaiiionH, "caincia cat it, the 
cattle shelter under it, aiid the benies are good fui' food. When 
the courtierB at Laboi"e were exhaiiHted by the dissipatiyiiB o 
cajiital, they used to go ofi" to the neighbourhood of Jloolta 
drink camel's milk and eat pilu berries as a n-fitoratiTe," 

It was not till I got home and looked at Braudis's book i. 
saw that the pilu, which we rushed pa^t, was a plant about ^vhieh 
I have a great cuiiodty — no other tliau the Salvudora Perftca, 
which has been identified ^vith the mustard-tree of the Go^cls. 

Later ui the day. I asked another pereon about tlie woodland in 
which the pilu was gi-owing. " It is," said he '■ a preserve of the 
Maharaja] I's." " Does he shoot 1 " I asked. '• No," wh« the reply. 
■■ He thinks it wrong to take life, and never shoots. When he sees 
cattle overwoj-kcd on the road, he buys thorn and puts them iu 
there to hve hiippily ever oftorwaide," holdhig. apparently, to the 
good maxim of Jehangecr — "that annmarch should care even for 
the beasts of the field, and that the very birds of heaven should 
receive their due at the font of the throne." 

The place is full of cattle, wild, or run wild, and aJso of deer. 

Arrived at the litation. Sir John Strachey was met by His High- 
ness, and we all proceeded tliioiigh the town to the Residency. 
I looked ■vd'ih. great intorc^st on the old mud wall, one of the veiy 
few defences iu India tliat ever foiled, even for a time, the terrible 
Feriughee. Lord Lake's failure before Bhnrtpore occnrred about 
the time my father went to India, and I have often heai'd him Bay 
that when, as a boy of twenty, he was returning to cajnp fromtJie 
not politically huportant, but desperately contested capture of 
JhiHia, he first realized that he had been in a rather serious affair, 
when on his sajing to an old officer — "I suppose this was uothiuf^ 
tO' Bhurtpore," the latter replied — " Faitli, I don't know. Certainly 
not so bad for round shot, but for mipiiiff I think tliis was rather 
the worst of the two." 

I afllcfd, by-the-bye, a week or two ago, a gentleman, who had 
been emjiloyed ui Kattiawar, abont the Hallia people, and was 
amused to find tliat they had retained their bud clmracter to onr 
own times. Quite lately they used to keep horses In their houses, 
which they tj'eated exactly as members of the family. These tnwty 
little boasts tlicy would mount in the night and be sixty miles off 
before any one knew they had Btartcth iu the true Pindano* 
fashion. Then, after a reasonable amount of robbery, they used 
to dash house again, and go about their ordinary businesB, M'itli an 
appearance of pei-foot innocence. 

The Mahariyali has on paper an army of 5,0(KX of which, 
jmrhaps, 3,000 are efficient troops. The oavahy- looked vei-y good, 
and is, I am aetsured, verj"good, but the weapon of the troopers is 



*aciri of eciiuitur, which would only be iiscfiil fo» outtiug, not for 
the tlirust. 

Wo enon ngain U'ft the Residency, to pay our reepecta at the 
P*Iace, wlier^ we were ouce more proeeuted to Hie HigliuosB, while 
all tUs' Irsding pereonagee of tlie Court made their obeisance to 
Sir Jobii. The visit concluded witb the attar and pawn, f«i' wliich 
I bavv lipoketi ere jiow. but without the tu garlanding, 

AlnioRt immediately after wo had. got back came the I'ftnvn v'ieJt 
nf thf Maharajah, with of course more ealutes of heavy guus, and 
more marehalUng of gaily dressed horsemen on very fair horses. 
That sort of tiling, ns you may imagine, went on al) day. It 
alwa^'B doe« mi such occasions, whfu eei'tajn si>ocified forms of 
cottrteej- mt-an a gieat deal, and muHt be most rigidly adhered to 
on both sides. 

■When the ceremonial was over. T waUcod up ajid down the Rosi- 
dency gurdeu ^Hth & — ~, a distinguislied Oxford man, steadily 
TiBhig into importance here. The half ^vild, half tame peafowl, 
which Bwanu in this neighbourhood, were calling all round the 
conntry. I could have fancried myself at Hampden. 

Th* uhadows lengthened, and a fiound of bells floated up from 
the to\vn. '* What ia that ?" I aeked. " Only the pne«ts ringing fi>r 
evening si-nnee," replied niy companion. " Dear me," I aiifiwerod. 
'* we might be back again on the slope over Hinckscy." 

Thi* sunset faded, and the jackals began their chorus. I com- 
plained of hax-ingseen bo few wild animals — not even an antelope— 
tliniigh I have panned through districts where 1 know they abound. 
■" That is pure accident,'" said S- — — , "you must have been closo 
to tniuy. People, however, have exaggerated expectations as 
to the number of wild animals they wll see in India. Much of 
the tiountry is far too thickly peopled, and ton well oidtivated. 
Have yon any curiosity to see a tiger killed ?" "Not 
the least," said I. " for in truth next to being killed by a 
tiger, the thing 1 should least like would lie to kill one, but I 
•Wld very much like to spend a night wliere I could hear 
tht criee of the wild beasts. A friend of mine ouce enjoyed 
tbat pleasure to perfection in the Goa tcn-itory, and I wish 

to U UB fiirtunate as he." "Ah," answered S , "this is the 

wrong thno of year; your best chance would be in March or April. 
At present all the wild beasts are off for shelter to the deepest 
recewee of the forcHts. Even in the Sewalik Hills, which are full 
•'f tigent, you have hardly a chance of seeing one." 

"E ," I said, "whom all men know to be proverbial for his 

•timr«f-y, (old me that he knew the case of a tiger in the 
Central ProviiiooR. at whose door wb« laid the death of uo less 

than ,^3(1 people." -'That nurprisesme," rfjiIiedS , "I thought 

the elephant wl!i<h tilled fifty people, and fi'ightened away thi' 


inhabitants of I know not how many villages, was the most re- 
markable case of the kind on record." " No," I said, " E told 

me that these 336 cases were authenticated. The same tiger may 
have killed others whose death was never traced to him." 

Later, we drove to the palace to dine. The whole line of 
streets through which we passed was most effectually iUuminated 
by very simple means — a framework fastened in front of the 
shops, to which were attached five rows of small earthenware 
pans, with a Uttle oil in each. Great triumphal arches, at inter- 
vals, were covered in the same way, and were really most bril- 
liant. At length we reached the palace, the whole of which was 
outUned with hght. I have never seen a more beautiful illumina- 
tion, though some present said they had done so, especially 
at Ulwur, where the lie of the ground is very favourable, 
and at Benares, where the river lends itself admirably to such 

The dinner was in the European manner. Our host, I need! 
scarcely say, did not eat with us, but joined us at dessert, when 
some toasts were proposed. 

After dinner there were fireworks — ^\'ery pretty, €md not too 
long continued. The blaze of green and red, and blue, contrastecP 
admirably \Wth the black masses of people, which covered the 
housetops, and filled the open space ui front of the Palace 
garden, the beds in which were all edged with coloured lamps. 

This morning we drove some thirteen miles to Futtehpore- 
Sikri — our carriages being drawn sometimes by horses, and some- 
times by camels, good draught cattle on sandy roads. 

Futtehpore Sikri was a creation of Akbar s, and rose round the 
dwelhng of a saint who is buried in the centre of the splendid build- 
ings whicli crown the sinnmit of one of the last Yindhyas, just 
before they sink into the great plain of Rajpootana. On the slopes 
lav Ihe citv, surroinided bv a ffreat wall, much of which still* 
remains. High above towered, and still towers, the gateway, one 
of the grandest in the world, and almost dwarfing the noble 
mosque to which it leads. It is somewhere, I tliink. on that gate— 
i\'ay that an inscription i>ceurs characteristic of the Broad Church 
Mahometanism of the great Emperor : — *' Jesus, on whom be 
peace, has said, the world is merely a bridge : you are to pass over 
it, and not to build your dwellings upon it." 

Everywhere, at Futtehpore Sikri, hardly less in the mosque 
than ekewhen.', does one see the influence of Hindu art, 

Fergusskni s;ij*s : — 

** AklwrV favourite and ^irineii)«l iv^dem^ was at Futtehpore Sikri« 
Agra, wherv he buih the grvat UK^oe, and in it3 immediate praximitj a 
pdUce, lY mtlier a irnoup of uUaces, vfhk'fa, in their way, aiv moi^ inter- 
e*thi^ than anv others iu Imua. No cienera! desi^rn seems to have been 




flnO»wi^ in itiHr en-ctiriu; Imt pavilion after pHviiiou was added as roet- 
tJeiiivs, either fur liiiiiwlf or for lii» favourite wives. These were biiiit as 
lb* la§te of ihe moiiieiit dictated, twiae in the Ilindu, «ouie in the Moalem 
style. The palace has no preteiisiou to be reparded aa one great architec- 
tcffsl object ; bnt na a ijictiirea(jue group of elegant buildings it is unrivalled. 
AU are built of red saiKlstoue of the hill on wliich the imlace stands ; no* 
tuarhle atid no stueoo either inside or out, all tlie oTiiameuta being' honestly 
lan-ed b ivllef nu the ntooe, and the roofs as well as the Hoors all of the 
nauoe material, and cliaracterised by that singular Rindu-Iike areratou to 
an arRh. which Akhar atone of all the Moslem luonarcbn steems to have 

•TV are (tome encliautiiig little bits of tlomestic archltectnro 
itt«lipore Sikri. The hoiiae of Beerbul, the house of thu 
itiDopolitaii princeaa and others, ought to be quite as 
as the Ca d'Oro, and will be when their vaiea *acer 

Ilie ahcirt Bummer of this marvellous place did not outlast tliG 
reign of Akbar, and it has long been one vast ruin. Let uo one 
ttnaj^je, however, that it is being maltreated as it was when 
Korgiissdii saw it. " Nous avons change tout cela "—thank God. 
The present rulers nf India are in matters of taste as muoh in 
advance of the Mai-quis of Hastings and Lord \\'illiani Beutiiick 
H8 our Knglisli Chuitih arehitectnre is now in advance of that of 
forty years ago. 

Krom Futtehpore Sikri we drove back to Bhurtpove. Here, as 
at Agra, I s(>e tliat the Aeafia lebbek of Egypt is one of th« 
fommonest trees. I obsorve, too. more frequently, I tliitdc tlian 
fnrtier south, the Partinnonfa ihgiUila, wliich we first met with on 
the wiiy to HeUopoHs, and note in this my first native state, that 
Ae intrusive prickly poppy iArrfeniowf Me.rimna), has taken 
poaswMon of all waste places us coolly as it duos in British 

We met many of the coimtry people — a hardy race, reputed 
lo lie excellent (.'nltivntnrs. The appearance of the young wheat 
Uiix ypar is Biieh as is likely, I hope, to reward their toil. They 
*'' .ISts ; but, unlike many of their blood who have become 
Sikhnhold to Brahminical orthodoxy. 

It W got niucli warmer at night. Clouds are collecting, and 
till' Weather-wise prophesy the speedy coming of the Christmas 
W"- ir it comes, say they, the crops in the North-west will be 
*J'l''niiid ; if it does not come, they will be good. 

I "topped at a silvt^rsmitli'a as we drove through the to^vn and 
wiglit a silver bracelet, whose pre-eminently barbaric character 
Sued likely to please one of our friends. 
It the station there was more ceremonial — more firing of guns — 

uib of Iho lalnt, ciquititcl; n 



aud theii we rushed over tlie tliirty-oue miles which separated us 
from Agra. I will lulmit tliat when we travelled at more thau 
twice the normal rate of speed — at thirty-nine instead of fifteen 
or sixteen miles an hour — my late client, the metre gauge railway, 
shook at least as much as was pleasant. 

It is agreeable to have to add that this, the first of the new 
State railways, is turning out well. It cost £6,000 per mile, 
rolling-stock included, and is pajntng already £14 per mile a week. 
They are now building a still cheaper railway in the North-west, 
from Muttni to the Hatras station of the East Indian Line, which 
will« it is hoped, not cost more than £4,000 per mile. 

I have had a very kind invitation to Dholepore from the 
Resident in charge of that, the other J&t state of Rajpootana, 
a smaller place than Bhurtpore, which covers about 2,000 square 
miles. The present Rana of Dholepore, a nice spirited little boy, 
came to see Sir John on Saturday, and behaved himself with 
infinite aplomb. 

Dee. 2Ath. — How little do even the most intelligent people at 
home who have not made a special study of India at all realize 
what an enormous coimtry it is. I have just been reading an 
article, obviouslv bv a man of sense and abilitv, from which it is 
clear that he beUeves the one great subject in India at this 
moment to be the Bengal &mine. I landed twenty-seven days 
ago, yet I liave hardly heard it named. 

At Allahabad I saw a gentleman who, with a considerable staff, 
had been engaged in collecting transports for the afficteddistnctB, 
In AgTa« I heard the failure of rain in Bengal and in some districts 
of the Xorth-west alluded to as having driven up tl^e grain 
market. Otlier mention of the Bengal calamity I have heard 
none, except when I have introduced the subject. Railways, 
irrigatii^« drainage, the best foruis of settlement* the relation of 
the ciJtivator and the money-lender, the state of the native army, 
the merits and demerits of our sj-stem of education — these are, I 
tliink* the matters wliich seem most talked of where I have been 

The modem system of **8iH^cial ci^rrespondence ~ is very 
disturbing to the mental fm?us« bringing some things into undue 
prominence, and throwing others tar too mudi into the shade. 

M. E. Gr-vxt Duff. 


THE Report of the late UnivorsitieB Commieeion, though pub- 
fished last autumn, has attracted lesa attention than it 
deserves, and the vague assurances given by the Prime lliniater, 
at the opening of the Session, have not as yet been redeemed by 
any Parliamentarj' action. No such action, indeed, could be desired 
in the interest of the Universities or the Nation, unless procfded 
by a free discussion oo the question of Academical Endowuientn. 
Yet no such discussion can be conducted intelligeutly ov profit- 
ably without an adequate consideration of facts equally beyond 
fbe scope of the Commissioners' inquiry, and the cognizance of th(^ 
general public. So limited is the range of political memory in 
theBe days, that of the few who liave scmtinized the gross totals 
of University and College revenues, now ascertained for the first 
time, not one in ton has studied, or woiild care to study, the far 
more comprehensive Reports of the Commissions isstied by Loixl J. 
Russell's Government in 1850. Nevertheless, some knowledge of 
(he results then obtained, and of the changes since effected at 
Orford and Cambridge, is absolutely necessary in defining the 
couiBe of future legislation. Before proceeding to regulate the 
•listribution of Academical Endowments, tlie comitiy ouglit to 
realize distinctly the extent to which the Universities at present 
discWge their responsibilities to learning and education, as well 
as the advances which they have made during the last twenty- 
five years. It is one thing to force reforms on reactionary, ob- 



Ntiniutivc, aiut M'lt-iiCQkiiig corpomtious ; it is aiiottier tiling to (id 
iho spoiitaiicouB efforts of coi'poratioiis ou the whole liberal, 
] mblic-fipiiitcil, ami pi'ogroBwvc-. If it ehouH appear that few, if 
:my. public iiiBtitutious m Eugland t^aii exhibit ao good nti account 
iif their Btewardsliip as tiie UiiiversiticB lUiJ CollegeB of Oxford 
.'iu<l Cambridge, it will assuredly be uo roason for withholding aiiy 
nieasuree wliich may enable them to realize a still higher ideal of 
efficiency ; but it will be an excellent rcasou for not disMpntiiig, in 
the attempt to utilize, resources already so well employed. 

In compaiing the present with the past application of Acadeuii- 
eal Endowment*, it -wiW be convenient U> fix our attention specially 
rin one Univei«ity — that is, upon Oxford. So far as conctnis the 
main features of their internal economy, what is true of Oxford is, 
for the most part, true of Cambridge, and little would be gained 
by dwelling ou minute differences of system, n'hich have no 
beamig on the relation between the Univemties and the Xation. 
There are, however, certain broad distinctions botweeu Oxford 
and Cambridge, which it may be well for the non-academical 
reader to bear in mind. Both are eBsentially collegiate I'ni versifies, 
nince the constitution of both alike secures valuable privileges to 
Colleges, since the vast majority of their studenta continue to be 
members of Colleges, and since tlic aggregate revenues of Collejjcs 
are iu either case nearly ten-fold gi'cater than the revenues of the 
University itself. Still, the predominance of collegiate influence 
and the collegiate spirit has always been greater and more ex- 
elnsive at Cambridge, o^ving to a variety of causes, the most 
obvious of which is the great siiperiority of Trinity and St. John's, 
both in minibere and in prestige, over tlie smaller Colleges, On 
the otlier hand, the disproportionate encouragement so long given 
to mathematical attainments at Cambridge, and the unique im- 
poi-tanee traditionally attached by its College authorities tti the 
resulfB of tJie final- Univernity exaininariou, have not failed to 
iiifect the character of Caiubiidge as a place of national education. 
Mathematics are not cultivated at the great public schools with as 
much zeal or success as classical literature and other cognate 
Htudies, which are more liberally rewarded at Oxford. The con- 
soquenco is, that it is no mre occurrence at Cambridge for tile 
firat place in the Mathematical TriiJos, carrj-iug with it the 
certainty of a College Fellowship, to be won by a young man of 
humble birth from a cheap gniummr school in the north of England, 
who never even held a scholarahip or exhibitiou till he reached the 
Univemty. At Oxford, on the contrary, though <;ompetition is 
equally free, and though almost everj- College thraws open ita 
SchoIai'sliipH and Fellowships to membera of otluu- Colleges, few^r 
yoimg men of this class practically succeed in obtaiiuug tlie 
liigliest honours and prizes. Snch divei-sities as these, it is tme. 



9«too alight to impair tlie mavked faniilj" likenese wliicli distin- 
^[■h<» QsforJ nod Cambridge from Scotch and Coutinental 
Uuiversities, but tlit-y may help to explain some divergent 
tradeocics, wluch might, ottiorwise, be somewhat perplexing. 

I. When the Oxfiird ITuivoiBity Commission of 1850 was ap- 
pointed, thu University and Colleges were governed resijoctively 
by antiquated coiics i-f statntea, which it would have, been no bss 
(EbuMtous tlmn imposHible to enforce, but which, in the opinion of 
ondnent authoritie-s, they had no power to alter. Their practical 
mmagemeDt, as it existed but five-and-twenfy years ago, would 
L&rdlyba credited by refoiTners of a yoiuigergejieratiou. The solo 
initiative power in University legislation, and by far the largest 
lAare of University administration, was vcetcd in the Hebdomadal 
Board, conasting solely ofHeads of Colleges ^vith the two Proctors, 
and Well described by Mr. Goldwin Smith as "an organized torpor." 
There was an assembly of residents, kno^vn as the House of 
Congregation, but it* business had dwindled to mere formalities, 
"Hcli as recei\-ing propositions which it was not permitted to dis- 
cnn, conferring degrees in the name of the University, and 

Siting di^ensations, as a matter of cour.«e. The University 
vxicatjon included, as now, all full (or '" itegent") Masters of 
Arti, and had the right of debating, but this right was virtually 
uutuUcd by the necessity of Hpt-aking in Latin, and Convocation 
ct)(i!d only accept or reject without amendment measures proposed 
by thir Hebdomadal Board. At this poiiod, no student could be a 
lafmber of the Univermty without belonjpiig to a College, while 
erery member of a College was compelled to sleep within its 
'TsBb, until after his third year of reuidence, instead of being 
iDowed, as at Cambridge, to live in lodgings. Persons unable to 
riga the Thirty-nine Articles wore aVisolutely excluded, not merely 
froni degrees, but from all accoaa to the Univeraity, inasmuch as 
tKe test of subscription was enforced at matiiculation. It is 
iioedbea to add that, being iinable to enter the University, they 
"Wild not obtain Cullegu Fellowships, which, however, were further 
Pwtected against the intrusion of Dissenters by the declaration of 
uumthmauahip rcfjuired to be made under the Act of Uniformity. 
^ Professorial lectures were not at so low an ebb as in the days 
nF Gibbon, wliou the greater part of the Professoi-a had "given up 
tVED the pretence of teaching," they were lamentably scarce and 
lotSeotive. The educational function of the University had, in 
Iwt, been almost wholly merged in College tuition, but the 
SflhoUrehips, as well as the Fellowsbipa, of the Colleges were 
l«tter!)d by all manner of vestriotions, which marred their value 
Hincentives to indtistry. Some were confined to natives of par- 
iSnlsr countries, others were attached to particular schools, in 
•ome ooKes " Founder's Kin " had a statutable preference, and, in 
roL. XSVI. F 



too many, favouritiein was checked by no mle of law or practice. 
The great majority of Fellows were bound to take Holy Oi-dere, and 
the wliole Uuiversjty was dominated by a cli-'rical spirit which 
directly tended to uiake it, as it has bo long been, a focus of theo- 
logical controversy. 

It is to be rogi"etted that many of the wise and liberal alterations 
recommended by the Cominisfiion of 1850 were not at once adopted 
by the Legislature. No steps, fur instance, were taken for abolishing; 
the invidious privileges of Noblemen and (Jentlemen Conunonei-s. 
students were not relieved from the obh^tion of belonging to a 
College and resiiling witliiii its walla, no Univermty inatricnlation- 
tfxaiuination was established, no order of sub-proftssors or lecturers 
was instituted, tlie Long Vacation continued unrefoiined and the 
University examinations cuntiaued to be conducted in Term-time, 
clerical Fellowships were maintained, th<jugh on a reduced scale, 
and tlie practice of applying College funds to the purchase of 
advowBous for the clerical Fellows was not suppressed. On the 
other hand, no one who knows what O.tford was in 1850 can 
doubt that by the Oxford Reform Act oi 18.54, and tlie Collegw 
Ordinances framed by the Executive Commission under its pro- 
visions, a profound and most beneficial change was wi^ought m the 
whole spirit and working of the Univei-sity system. The Heb- 
domadal Board was replaced by a representative Council, and 
Congregation was remodelled into a vigorous deliberative assembly, 
with the right of speaking in EngUsh. The monopoly of Colleges 
was broken down, and an opening made for ulterior cxteuidon, 
by the revival of Private Halls. The Professoriate was eonsider- 
ably increased, reorganized, and re-endowed, by means of contri- 
butions from Colleges. The Colleges wero emancipated from their 
mediceval statutes, were uivestcd witli new constitutions, and 
acquired new legislative powere. The Fellowsliips were almost 
imiversally thrown open to merit, and the effect nf this revolution 
was not merely to create ample rewards for the liigheet academical 
attainments, but lo place the governing power within Colleges in 
the hands of able men likely to promote further iinprovementa. 
The number and value of Scholarships were largely augmented, 
and many, tliough not all. oF the restrictions upon them were 
abolished. The great mass of vexatious and obsolete Oaths was 
swept away, and. though candidates for the M^. degree and 
pereons elected to Fellowships were still required to make the old 
Kubecriptious and declarations, it was enacted that no religioOB 
test should be imposed at matriculation, oi- on taking a Bachelor's 
degree. Tlie Univeisity itself had anticipated the results of ih© 
Conmiiesion l>y liberal elianges in its curricuhmi aud examinations, 
of which the most important was the assignment of independent 
"schools" to Law and Modem History and to Natural Science 

THE vyjvEiisrnES and the natjon. 

w^ictivoly, rimiiltnniiouBly with the foitndatiou of a new AhiHuuin. 
The pemiftTieuce nfthtsi^cbsngeswafijliowcvcr.additioniillyBecuvod 
by tbo ol&u»(? introduced info the College Oidiuances, wliereby it 
was directed thnt Ftilloivships should be appropriated fmm time to 
time for the encouragement of al! the studies recngijizwl by the 

ITiB necesai^ of providing for vested interests, and other 
difficulties incident to so comprehendvp a mcasuit;, delayed it« 
operation for some yean*, and its benefits lijtve not even yet been 
fiiUy feetped. Bill the most carsoiy review of Umvorsity history 
during the last twenty years will suffieo to discloae a profpoes fai' 
greater than had been made duiing the preccdiug contmy, and to 
wMcfa it would be difficult ti. find a parallel. At the end of 1850. 
tin whole number of Oxford luidergiaduates, resident and non- 
iMftdent, was stated at 1,402. It ie probable that it was less at 
tiie end of the RuHsiau war in 1856 ; whereas it appcare, by thi- 
Tbiversity calendar for tlie present year, that t^ie number of 
TOMieTgraduates m ntrw 2,440, notwithstftndiug a concurrent in- 
rreaae at Cambridge. Among these are 187 unattached Htudcute. 
admitted under an UniverMty statute passed in 18C8, and placed 
nndur special regiilatione for then- discipline. Again, thi^ niimbei' 
oftfaueo who quaUiied for the B.A. degree had averaged 287 for 
tliflten years ending with 1850; in the yc-ar 1874 it anifiunted to 
399, Similar indications of healthy pi-ogrees meet us in examiuiu^ 
die class-liats. In 1854> fourteen students obtained Srst-claEH 
haiiouTB, and seventeen obtained seeond-claee lionoui-s, in the 
SchiHil of Lit«nc Humauiores, In 1874, the corresponding nuiu- 
kere were fifteen and thirty respectively ; but while, iu tlie former 
J«r, only twenty obtained first-elafis honoui's in other Nehools, in 
W74 tliirty-five obtained such honours, including one classed by 
hiaiaelf iti the new School of Theology. A Professoriate of barely 
Tarty members represents, it is tnie, but one-third of the pro- 
&«ona] staff maintained at Leipsic, and oue-fonrth of that main- 
tsifttd at Berlin, whore the Professors are not assisted by a body 
"[ CoUtge Tutors. Still, it is much larger, and infinitely more 
''ffideot than it was twenty yeara ago, nor have the CVillegcH failed 
•" supplement it by a ej'stem of inter-collegiate lectures which 
napjiilj- combines a proper subdivision of labour in teaching with 
lie advantage of personal superintendence — an advantage en- 
^ly lost under a strictly professorial Bysteni. One of thesv 
GiUegiate Unions embraces six of the leading Colleges, another 
onlmces eight Colleges ; and tJie plan haa so far succeeded as 
nuterially to reduce the demand for private tuition. Upon the 
wluilo, it is abnuduatly certain that, notwithstanding tlie eager 
prosecatiuD of athletic sports, and the disturbing influences of 
tbeological coutroverey, the number of reading men in Oxfni-d hiis 



greatly iimltiplied witluii the last twenty years, tliat more firet- 
class degrees are taken in a niucli gic-ater variety of subjecta. and 
tliat more Btiidcuts are induced, after takiog their dogreo^ 1 
follow up some line of Hterary or scientific research. In sboif 
borrow the impartial testimony of Mr. Goldwin Smith — 

" Botli iw ft place of teaniine and wience, and an a place ol educaCR , 
the Uiiivei«ity has risen rapMy within the last twenty years. In the 
foi'iuer iftjiacity, she has regained, or \a faat regaining', the plate in England 
and in Europe which she bad almost entirely lost. Not only are there 
UIu!<tri(nis names among the prt>fe8sor8, Init among tlie feUowa post- 
graduate study is bearing good frnit*. The standard, both of acquirement 
and of teacliing, ia far higlier than it was in 1864. The snpeiior atU'lioa, 
, instead tif being merely cfcrical (if even clericiil studios could have bewi 
said to exist), are literary and scientific. Oxford wieuce begins to com- 
mand the respect and gratitude of the ccnmtry. Open fellowships and 
scholarships have viaibly stunulated industry, though it is too probable 
that thei-e will always be a mass of Incurable idleness in lUi Uui^'er8iLy to 
which wealth and ariatoci-acy resort. Better men, on the whole, have been 
eli'cled to offices of all kinds, including the headships, though these are 
still fettered by the clerical restrictions, the retention of wliieh waa as 
unavoidable sacriliL-e to tlie timidity of the lime ; and the heads recently 
elected appear to treat tlieir offices, not as places of dignifled ease, but aa 
spheres tif active duty. A\*eallliy colleges, before mere monasteries leas 
the asceticism, with scarcely a tinge of pnblic usefulness, have been 
I'estored to learning and edmration, .Some prepress has lieen mad« in 
placing University teaching, which t>efore was merely the temporary 
occupation of fellows waiting for livings, on the footing of a regular pro- 
fession. . . . The estraugement belwceu Oxford and the nation has 
been lessened, at all events, if party will not allow it to le entirely 
annulled ; and there is a visible willingness on the part of the promot«n 
of high education eveiywhere, but especially in tiie northern cities, to 
iiccept the aid and guidance of the progressive element in the Cniveraity. 
Any one who remembers the fossil that we were twenty years ago. must 
be filled with delight at the manifestation on all sides of a comparatively 
exuberant life." 

It may be added that, instead of diying up the bounty of 
founders, as had been cnnfidentlj* predicted, the reforms of 1854 
have apparently caused the stream of benefactions to flow with 
renewed abundance. Not to speak of Scholareliips, prizes, and 
building donations, the University has lately been reinforced by 
the accession of Keble College, erected by private subscription, 
and already numbering upwards of one hundred ujidergradnates, 
as well as by the conversion of Magdalen Hull into Hertford 
College, with a large new endowment. 

But the impulse given to academical education at Oxford by the 
legislation of ISM, and at Cambridge by that of 1856, is not to be 
measured solely by the internal growth of the Universities and 
Colleges. Since that period, three educational movemunt« of 
national importance have been independently set on foot and 
carried out by Oxford and Cambridge, either in concert or in 
friendly rivahy, ■n-ithout the shghtest assistance from the Oovem- 

THE L\\ivjin.sin/:s amj the ratios. 

BMOt i>r tlio Lepwlahire, The first of iheeo was tlie ficliomp nf 
Incal cxaminatioiis for pupils of middle-clasB ? cliools, initiated by u 
«t«tnte paseed at Oxford iii 18.57. afterwards adopted liy Cnm- 
bridge. and noiv cxerciRing a regulative iufliienoe on middlo-clatjR 
cducation throughout Eiig!and. The report of the Oxford dek- 
gscy, appointed t^^j couduet these examinations in lf74. rxhibifH 
on almost continuous increase in the nnmhcr of eandidatcB pr*"- 
fleiited within the preceding ten years. In 1865, 9211 jinnov 
canilidfitrB were examined, and 5111 passed; in 1874, 1.422 wrre 
exniiiiiied. and 807 passed, In 1865, 301 senior candidates were 
exaauned. and 2'10 passed; in 1874, 4titi were examined, and !i2'l 
|MU>sed. Among the jiuiiors in 1874 there wore 184 girls, of whom 
107 poflaed ; and among the seniors 150 girls, of whom 88 passed, 
one girl being placed in tlje first division of the general list. The 
Oxford local cxamiiiatirine were held in 1874 at twenty-five centres, 
wamt of which are sitnated In the aonthem and western eottiitics. 
Separate local examiuationa are conducted, under the superiuteii- 
clrnoe of a Cambridge board, on somewhat different piinciples. 
and iio less than 4,180 candidates presented themselvcR, at sixtj'- 
throe centres, for the (]!amhridge examinations of 1874. The Joint 
r«enlt of these efforts haa been that middle-class schools, how- 
ever backward, are fast ceasingto be the stronghold of educational 
imposture, since the quahty of their work is annually checked by the 
itnpartjal judgment of University examiners. 

In the second movement^ — that fur the organization of academi- 
cal lectures and classes in populous centres — the lead was taken 
byOambridge. But two years have elapsed since a SymUcate was 
l^ointcd for this purjiose by the University Senate, yet in February 
lait this body was able to report that sixteen largo towns, including 
IjverpooL Nottingham, Bradford, and Sheffield, had availed them- 
•elvefl of the educational advantages thus offered, and had provided 
lie local committees with the necessary funds to cover all expenses. 
Kioetcen lecturers were already employed in giving iustntction 
en i variety of subjects; the whole number of pupils attending 
Wi" courses was about 3,500, and the cost of education, apJirt 
from the hire of rooms and printing, was not found to exceed nine 
"lifingB a head. No similar organization exists at Oxford, but 
Word teachers, of higli reputation, have lately been engaged by 
local ciniimittet'B to give courses of lectures in several West of 
Eopbiid towns, and at least two Oxford colleges are known to 
havt Voted jE300 a year each to aid a local committee at Bristol 
m founding an acadejiiical institute capable of easy development 
into A local University College aifiliated to Oxford. It isnowpro- 
JoHedto extend the system of "Cambridge lectmes" to the metro- 
polis itself, and for so largo an enterpriBo it -will be (jtiite eK!*enfial 
<'| ckain the eo-operution of the sister University. 


The last movement commenced in the autumn of the same 
year, 1873, with the appointment of an " Oxford and Cambridge 
Schools' Examination Board." Mr. Forster's project of a State** 
inspection of Endowed Schools must doubtless be regarded as the 
origin of the idea; and it might have been long before head* 
masters of public schools invited the Universities to undertake the 
duty of testing the results of school work, had they not beea 
possessed with an excessive dread of State intervention. The 
Universities, however, deserve the credit of having at once 
accepted the responsibility thus cast upon them, and for having 
succeeded not merely in devising, but in working out an elaborate 
system of examination to which thii-ty-two schools had actually 
submitted themselves up to August, 1874. It remains to be seen, 
indeed, whether Oxford and Cambridge will be able to furnish 
a sufBcient number of examinei-s capable of thoroughly inspect- 
ing all the schools which may apply for this privilege; but 
there can be no difficulty in finding a sufficient number of 
pereons competent to examine the higher forms, and to award 
what in Germany would be called leaving-certificates. In 
the year 1874, fifteen schools presented 259 candidates for 
certificates, out of whom 155 were successful and 104 failed. 
The candidates who obtain these certificates gain an exemption, 
under ceiiain Umitations, not merely from matriculation-examina- 
tions and " little-go" at the Univci-sities, but also from the pre- 
liminary examination at the College of Surgeons, and from certain 
parts of the examination for the Army and for Woolwich. They 
may therefore be regarded as supplying a missing Unk between 
secondaiy and University education, and as containing the 
iiidiments of a missing link between secondary and professional 

In considering the services rendered by the Universities to the 
Nation since they recovered theii- liberty of action, it is impossible 
to pass over the abolition of Univei-sity tests. Tliis great reform 
was notoriously brought about, not so much by the pressure of 
external opinion, either popular or ParUamentary, as by the 
persistent and disinterested agitation carried on by refonners, 
mostly Fellows of Colleges, witliin the Universities themselves. 
In the year 1862, a petition was presented from seventy-four 
resident Fellows of Colleges at Cambridge, praying for the repeal 
of the clause applicable to Fellowsliips in the Act of Uniformity. 
In the year 1803, a petition was presented from 106 Heads, Pro- 
fessors, Fellows and ex-Fellows, and College Tutora at Oxford, 
praying for the removal of theological i-estrictions on degrees. 
In the year 18(>8, a petition against all religious tests, except for 
degrees in theology, was signed by eighty Heads, Professors^ 
Lecturers, and resident Fellows at Oxford, while a similar petition 


KU.ttgocd by 133 uou-resideut Follows and cx-Fellowa. lu the 
K,aa&ysai a petition ttj the euine eft'out waa signed by 227 Huads 
ami [)t«8ent or fornior Office-holilers and Fullowa of Caujbridge, , 
.Sepfti»tii petitiona, specially directed against the declaration of 
iJunfonnity, were signed by thirty-two out of sixty Fellows of 
Trinity College, Carabridgcaiidbytho Master and all the Fellows, 
'Jtcept one of Christ's College, Cambridge, jVasuredly these 
'ff»rt» wi're ably supported by the Liberal party in Parliament, 
aud by the Nonconformist body in the coiuitry ; but the motive 
jiiiWKf wliich tdtinmtely proved irresistible came from within, aiid 
iii)( from withcmt, the Universitiea. It was Fellows nf Colleges, 
tlip reaotutely ioeisted on ^-indicating the national character of 
llai Univoj-sities. and Hot the nation at large which foi'ced upon 
lliiin lui nnu'eloonie obligation. 

Tk' University Test* Aljohtioii Act was Carried In 1871, aad En 

till; following October Mr. Ciladstoiie addressed a letter to the 

Vico-Chancc-Uors of Oxford and Cambridge, asking whether the 

'iiivi-nimeut could rely on the co-operation of the Universities 

ind CoUeges, in the event of a Royal Commissioii being appointed 

to innoiru into academical property and revenues. The reply 

woe&votirablo, and tli6 Commis^on was issued in January, 1372. 

It» fwictiQiui were stiictly limited to investigation, and to mattera 

"( Gnaace, uu power biiug entrusted to it either of passing 

jndgmcut on the pci-'seut application of University and College 

'^iitluwmttul'*, or of suggesting a rediHtributiou of them — -jnuch 

\m of tnttriiig on general fiuestions of University reform. Many 

"Bull [jueiitioiiK had inevitably arisen at both Universities in the 

[mriod uf rapid growth succeeding the acts of 18.i4 and 185G. 

Al Oxford, the anomalieu chiefly felt were the defective constitu- 

'um of Congregation, whereby the Professors and working Tutoi-a 

■wi-TE liable to be swamped by a mixed multitude of chaplaijts and 

either resident Mautei's. the want of larger resources for Pro- 

fi--«orial teaching as well as for tJie maintenance of University 

"'•rtablishmenta. the reservation of nearly half the Fellowsliips to, ^ 

pfJMcaJQ or about to enter Holy Ordere, and the !;nlo of tenure 

iiulw which the most useless Fellow of a College may rutain his . 

pwitioti for life by vij-tue of celibacy, while the nioKf. useful must 

'^ga. it ou niarriage„eveu though engaged in Cullege tuition. 

^hfriabrid^c this last grievance was further aggravated in ^ 

MBApoUiigoB, by the preposterous comlition that eveiy Fellow ^ 

^^^■ko, orders within a certain term of years, or foi-feit Ids , 

^^^BVP* Soijie of tli(! disabihtJes which pressed n'ost heavilv ■ 

^^^■Mcular Colleges had been partially removed by new ^ 

^^^Hb, with the sanction of the Privy Conncil, but tlie Privy , 

^^^Kbccame reasonably unwilling to k-giwlati* piecemeal, at ^ 

^^^Kiwe.of llnctnatiiig bodies of Felli>ws, and a demand for a . 


emppleiiieiitary Heform Act was gaining strength at botli Univep- 
versities, -when Mr. Gladstone consented to fippoint a purely 
fiimucial CommiBsion, ae a preliminary step to fiirtbcr Icgielation. 
How far this was a politic act, may perhaps be doubted, and it is 
certain that it would never Iiave been taken, had it been foreBccn 
that it would reet with a new Administration to propose or tn 
resist a rcdifitribntion of Academical revenues. However, the 
statistical facts have now been placed before the public, in n 
somewhat misleading form it may be, but still with a complete- 
ness never before attained. It is these facts which it now 
remains for us to examine and to interpret. 

II. The grand total of University and College revennes, for 
Oxford and Cambiidge together, is stated on page 20 of the Com- 
missionere' Report at £754,405 — a very large income, tliough less 
than is stated to have been realized by one nobleman in one year 
fi-om profits on coal and iron. This grand total has sometimes 
been cited as if it constituted the fund on wliich Parliament 
might operate immediately, if it thought fit, with a prospect of 
having to deal with an additional income of about £120,0()*). 
hkely to accrue at Oxford, and some £40,000 likely to accrue at 
Cambridge, by the year 1890. Let ub, then, proceed to consider 
how far the sum of £754,405 represents disposable revenue, in the 
usual sense. And, first, we must eliminate £38,679, received 
under the head of "internal income" by the Universities of 
Oxford and Cambridge, and about £101,000 received under the 
head of " internal income " by the Colleges and Halls of Oxford 
and Cambridge. " The internal income of the Universities," as 
the Report infoi-ms us, " anses almost wholly from taxation," aad, 
as the Synoptical Tables show, it is more than absorbed by 
Univereity charges of the most legitimate character. Speaking in 
round numbers, and combining into one account the returns for 
Oxford and Cambridge, we find tliat £5,800 ie spent on University 
librarieB, £.3,500 on scientific institutions, £1,500 on museums ajid 
lecture rooms, and £3,600 on subscriptions, donations, and grants, 
besades about £16,000 on the maintenance of University churches. 
servants, police, repairs, building, law charges, printing, and 
minor items, scarcely one of which the most captions auditor 
would be disposed to disallow, or even to dispute. Altogether 
the joint corporate expenditure of the Universities, out of coi^ 
porate funds, amounts to nearly £50,000, exceeding their "in- 
ternal income" by some £l 1,000, which is made up out of their 
" external income." mainly derived from landed property, "The 
internal income of the Colleges and Halla arises fi-om rents of 
rooms or chambers occupied by members of the College or Hall ; 
from fees paid on enfrnnce and graduation ; from dues paid by 



all iiK^inbfrs, whether rrsident or non-rerideiit ; from profits of 
the eBtablishmeiif, chiefly in its buttery and kitchen depart- 
ments: and from nnall casual payments." Now. k will at 
once occur to any one couvereant with U-ollege i;c")noiny that 
mH^ receipts as these are supposed to cover, and no more than 
corer, saeh current domestic expenses as the anniinl repairs of 
Cndege buildings, the maintenance of the establish] ncnt. the 
salaries of College servanta, chapel ser\'ici'fi, rates, taxes, and 
W) forth. A detailed inspection of the items coufivins tliis in- 
ference, and proves that Collcgen expend with one hand on the 
primary neceasitiee of internal management considerably more 
than tliey receive with the otluT under the name of "internal 
income.'* It does not. therefore, appear very clear why the 
"inttmal income" of Colleges and Halls shoidd have been 
imported into the account nt aU. In fact, a glance at the 
returns from Oxford Halls, which are mere bnarding-hoosee 
without any endowment whatever, is sufficient to expose the 
illnjjory nature of such "interna] income." In the £58.883 of 
"internal income" charged agauist Oxford Colleges and Halls 
is inchided £fi.846 raised by the Halls in rents, fees, and dues, 
which constitutes the whole fimd out of whicli they have not 
only to pay their Heads, hut to keep up their fabrics aiid staffs 
of servADta for the accommodation of some 200 undergraduates. 
Tliufl, from the sum total of £754,405 nnist he subtracted nearly 
£14W.000 of " internal income " received by the Universities and 
Colleges, pliii the suhsidiea contributed from external income to 
internal expenditure. It is difficult to eBtimate these with accu- 
racy, especially an the Synoptical Tables have not been compiled 
with perfect uniformity as between different Colleges, but they 
caiiDot fall short of £30,(KH) : sn that we have no longer to deal 
with £754,405. but with eomothiug lees than £585,000. 

It is next to be observed that £S8,8<)3 of this £585.000 consists 
ortmst-fimds. Of course, the power of Parliament ie as complete 
over property hold in trust an over property held for the corporate 
n»e of an University or College ; hut, on the other hand, the 
nwvprsitj" or College is not equally reeponBible for its appropria- 
tion, which is prescribed by the tnist-deed. under the control of 
tiancf-ry. and may or may not be for the benefit of Academical 
education. For instance, the annual interest of £10,208, being 
l«rt of the Sheppard fund of Magdalen College, Oxford, is 
*p«ifically aBnigned to charities in certain Hampshire parishes, 
iind (he apparent income of the College is fictitiously awelled 
by £3(KI H year, which it only receives iu the capacity of almoner. 
No imht, *the great bulk of the whole £88,803, and especially of 
tlw £25,845 received by the Univereities as trustees, is subject to 
tnittB more or less beneficial to cdueiition. and mnv therefore 



be properly counted ninODg^ the educiitioiml resoorceB of OxfinBT 
aud Caiubiidge. Still, it ttppoai-s that as much as £6,500 is 
devoted U* " benefices," and £13.500 to miBoeUaneous objects; 
eo tJiat, even assuming all the rest to be lu tlie nature of 
educational or yiifut'-educational endowments, wo muBt dodnct 
£20,000 iVoni the £585,000 previously obtained, and ara left with 
a residue of £365,000. 

Let us now examine eomewhat more closely tliia gross residae 
of £565.000, with a view to ascertain of what elements it consista, 
and how much of it can be fairly treated as spare income. It will 
be remembered that we have already accoimted for the internal 
income of the Uuivoraitioe, and fur £11,000 of the external income, 
in our previous sumniaiy of Univereity expenditure, Ab the whole 
external income of the Univemtiea amounted in the year 1871 to 
£17,114, there remained a suiplue of about £6,000, appHcable to 
general Uuiveraity purposes, and probably appropriated since that 
year to some of the various improvements or extensions urgently 
needed in University buildings. There also remained an inoomo 
of £25,845 from trust-firnds administered by the UnivemtieiB, mimtt 
£3,180, for which allowanCQ lias been made. This sum of £2<1,(>65 
was devoted, in accordance with tlie conditions of tnist-tleetlA to 
jiublie inst jtntiouR, Univereity Pi-ofcsaom aud h-eturere, Scholai'slups 
aud prizes, only £4(30 being expended i:i rates, taxes, and tuanage- 
niout, while a aiu'phis of £1,790 waa left over for investment, ■ 
Turning tiuw to Colleges, we must bear m mind that we 
have already' set off their internal income, and about £20,(K)0 of 
their external income, agaiust their internal expenditure, but w© 
have still t<i ullow for interest on loans (mostly contracted for 
building imrposes), the management of estates, repairs and im- 
provement OH estates, and rates and taxes on estates — all being 
proUminaiy outgoings, such as compose the ordinary margin 
betwfeon the gross and net income of individual landowners. 
These preliminary outgoings amount altogether to above £101,500. . 
Deducting £(\(H)0, £23,065, and £101,500 from tlie gross n«idue 
of £565.0iX). we obtain a net residue of £43^,835, belonging 
exclusively \» Colleges, but partly derived from external corporato 
income, ami partly from tnist-fimds. The ultimate question is 
whether this residue is employed as well and \vi8ely as it might i 
be for the proper ends of University education. 

It may be stated mughly that somewliat more than one-ninth 
of this smn (£50,U5tl) is expended ici payments to Heads; oa&- 
tightoentli (£24,600) ui paj-uienta to College Oilicei's and Tutors in 
aid of tuition-feei ; one-sisth (£6S),iirtl) in payinentw to Scholars 
aud Exhibitioners ; between two-fifths and one-hali' (£205,758), in 
payments to Follows; more than one-twentieth (£2.i,000)' if^m 
investmeulu; and tiie rest in payments for miscellaneous obj^l^B 



aWitof wjiicli arc ooinliicivc to ediicatiuu, sucli sa augmeiitAtioas 
of Professorial salaries, and the mainteiianct; of College libmrieB. 
Afl item of £9,837, r^resenting allowaiiCGa made to resident 
Fciluwa, nmy be coutddered eitlitir. a& an additioaal endowment of 
t't^wshipt^. or lis an indirect subsidy toCoUoge Tutors aud Officers 
—» bodj which embraces nearly all the resident FellowK. Another 
Hem of newly £16,000, representing subaciiptionB and pensions, 
might perLapB be reduced iufiuitesimally by a ligid econotnist, and 
the £14.000 Hpviit in augmentations of benelices ia opoti to excep- 
tiom IB caaoa where tiic gra-nt is made to improve the patronage 
(itha College, and not for the Hjjiritual benelit of the panshionem. 
Here and (hurt some Bnancial readjustments may be Buggefltcd, 
bvtitia certamly not easy to Jiud muoh room for saving on the 
sggrtgata of misccUuneoiis expenditure. Unless it be in respect 
ii pftynwuts to College Otficei's, payments to Scholars, payments 
to Hoads, or payments to fellows, the Colleges of Oxford and 
OnaLridgf: must surely bo acifuitted not merely of cxti-avagance, 
fcntof iiidiBOrf<tioii in the application of their funds. Let us deal 
irik llutBe itema succesaively. . 

We may dispose vorj' bri*?ily of the pajTnents to College Officers, 
wH^ Hru, after all, ven- moduratu iit amount. Under the general 
nmiB of Collogo OiBtfre aro included Tutors aud Lecturers, Deans, 
Quploiue. Librarians nnil Bursars. Thv income of Tutors is, in 
tlaoiy, wholly provided, and, in practice, maudy provided out of 
tmti^)n-f^^.« [laid by the students. These fees, however, seldom 
"Mpyd £21 per year, and the staff of Tutors maintained by the 
Wtlcr Colleges is so large in proportion to the number of students, 
tW it is fomid necossary to supplement tuition-fees ont of Collogo 
fnodt. The Kubeddies thus granted amount to £4,411 at Oxford, 
ttdto £2,fl42 at Cambridge, and to this extent tlie parents of 
■ludeuts must bv regarded as purchasing University education at 
Ii4 than cost price. Even with this addition, the produce of 
tuition-f ec« is not great enough to provide more than about £300 
• Jttt, on the average, for each Tutor and Lecturer. A Tutor's 
wluy, it is true, is oornud by eix months' work in the year ; he is 
"Hftilly ft Fellow, and thure are many advantages incident to his 
fjatiiiu. which make it more attractive and remunerative than 
"xmlJ iippi-ar at first sight. Nevertheless, it would be impossible 
I" abtani the sorvices of able men as Tutore unless they were 
*llu«-e»i to eke out tlicir incomes by IwkUng petty College <iffices, 
llieJutii'S iif wliich ai'B perfectly compatible -with tuition, and 
'fleo nnturally citmiected with it. Such is the oilice of dean, 
nwolviug the supeiintendence of College discipline, tltat of College 
piMcbcror cliapiain, and that of librarian. The office of Eiu-sar 
*ltii^ ou a diilercut footing, and the marvel is that men of 
nfficivnt uptitudo for busJiicBS can be induced to undertake it at 


a stipend of £100, £200, or £300 a year. The ( V-mmiflsionem 
juptly observe that tiie charge for management of College eatatcs 
18 "remarkably low," amotinting to leee than £16,000, muJ 
averaging only £2 Ss, K)d. per cent, on the whole external incoino. 
One explanation of this fact ib, that it does not inchide the salarieB 
of Bursars, and it ia worth notice that Bnmara holding FellowBliipB 
are content to serve their Colleges on terms which no profeeaif>nftl 
land agent would accept. 

The £70,000 paid to Seholare is perhaps the one item of CoUeg*> 
expenditure which no University refonner would desire to reduce. 
It may, of course, be doubted whether too many local and pereonat 
reetrictious ou Scholarships were not retained by thv Oxford 
Executive Commisflion, and it is certain that in this respect a more 
liberal policy was adopted by tlie Cambridge Executive Com- 
miesiDii. It may also bo thought desirable that more ScholarehipB 
or exhibitions should be offered aa prizes for success in the local 
examinations. But ui the main no one can deny that College 
Scholarships are well bestowed, and fonn the most important of 
all the steps ui thii yet imperfect ladder of educational preferment, 
enabling promising boye of humble parentage to complete their 
education, and encouraging schools to cultivate branches of 
tnowledge which are not immediately convertible into ready 
money. We may therefore dispense with any fmilier iliscussion 
of the echolarahip-fiind, the disposition of which may doubtless 
be profitably revised, but the aggregate amount of which needs 
increase rather than diniimition, and proceed to consider the 
£50,000 consumed in payments to Heads of Colleges. This is not 
the place to compare all the different plans which have been 
proposed for utilizing the Headsliipe, Whether an ideal Head 
should be an ex-officio senior Tutor or ex-officio senior Bursar, ov 
general Preaidont of the collegiate eocietj". like the Dean in a 
Cathedral chapter; whether ho should hold office for hfe, or for a 
term of yearn, or up to n certain age; these are points which 
must bo settled in any future comprehensive reform of the 
Uiiiveraties. but which scai-cely affect the present inquiry. 
The practical qnestions are whether it is expedient to abolish 
lleadshipe, and whether, if they are to be preserved, tlie sum now 
allotted for their maintenance is excesfiive. Both these questions 
must be answered in the negative by any one who believea in the 
value, and deprecates tlu- subvei-siou, of the College system. No 
institution can exist without o. Head; and of all institutions Colleges 
are the least fitted to e^)nduut the oxperiracnt suiitiossfuUy, inaa- 
mnch as tlieir body coqiorato is peii>etiially renewing itficlf, and 
the Head is the only i.liam*nt of stability. If a senior Tutor were 
charged with all the duties of a Head in addition to his own, ho 
would not only require a very large iiicrense of t^aliiry, but would 



In' coaiparntivcly inefficieut in botli capacitit;8. If not appoiutcil 
fartifi^ he would iieitlier feel the aame interest in his College, nor 
\x regarded by its past and present members as its representative ; 
^appointed fur lifu, be would be a Head in all but name, but ^itli 
Iha disastrous obligation of continuing to lecture after ht; liad 
ecaeed to be coiDpetent. But it is useless to pile up objections 
f^Q a College point of A'iew against a cliango wliioh is only 
•drooeted by those who seek to destroy the integiity and inde- 
peadmce of Colleges, transforming them more or less gmdually 
mto mere Halls of tlie Uuivei-sity. The position of a Head is, in no 
natonable sense of the word, a sinecure, and his Ufe is by no 
neuis one of idleness. To say nothing of the )iiirely moral 
obfigations incumbent on him, or of the benoSt wliich learning 
uftm dorives from liis comparative leisure, all Heads are stntutably 
hgtind to reside, and to exercise an active superintendence over 
• very deportment of College aSaira, Tliis superintendence may have 
hifcomo ineffective in the ease of oue or twu who have attained a 
vuiy advanced age, but such instances are quite exceptional ; and 
the great majority of Heads, in addition to College engagements, 
Ukea very large share in t'niversity buainoss. A reference to the 
Oxford University Calendur will show that all the Heads, except 
lira disabled by infirmity, hold University offices, very few of 
ii4uch are salaried. Six of them, besides the Vice-Chancellor, 
nut needs be membore of the Hebdomadal Council, five are 
Comtniasioncrs imder the Looal Government Act, and most of 
'Sum serve on several boards of curators or dolegjites, which 
engroM a great part of their time. It may well bo doubted 
irllother the work of the University could possibly be carried on 
vithont their aid by a body of hard-worked Profeaaora and Tutors, 
Aodit remains to be shown what advantage would be gained by 
gstting rid of them. The average income of a Head is £1,4(X) a 
year with a house. Considering that he must give up all pro- 
f««i)nal emoluments, and that a salutary College tradition 
nqoirua him to maintain a certain dignified hospitality, tliis 
bcome cannot be regarded as excessive. A few thousand pounds 
origiit be saved on the whole £50,000 by amalgamating two or 
lliree smaller Colleges under one Head ; but so trumpery a result 
wonld be deaily pm'chased if it should entail a disruption of 
coiporote ties and interests capable of becoming the nucleus of 
moro rigorous educational life. 

We now approach Uiat which lias been denounced, in no 
uiMimred language, as a ruinous waste of academical resources — 
tHu appropriation of some £205,000 (including a very small 
contribution from trust-property) to College Fellowships. Here, 
11 anywhere, we find a large fund on which Parliament may 
dmw, if it thinks proper, for purposes of University reform or 



extension. Wo Imve eccn liow very little reduction can be efB 
elsewbere in I'nivemty nr Collcgt- cxpencHturc, and even 'i 
■were possible to realize a large- hiiii>1u8 by trenchant ec 
there would be parnniount claims upon it for the better endow*- 
ment of existing Professorebips, and the Eustentation of existing 
institutions. It is upon the uiido^vments now applied to Fellow- 
ghipB that academicn! veforaiers of every class rely for the means 
of carrj'ing out their variouB schemes; and iis the case ia often 
argued upon a very imperfect knowledge of the easontial fact 
it may bo well to state these in a succinct form. 

There roiuid numbers. 3(50 Fellowships at Oxford and » 
■what more at Cambridge, so that, allowing for vacnncies 1 
temporary snspeneions, we may probably take 7W as thu estn?hi6 
number of existiug Fellows, and £300 a year as the extn-nit; 
average value of a Fellowship. The general mode of election, 
and conditions of tenure, are clearly explained in an able papei- 
read before the last Social Science CongrosB by Mr. CViarlee Sttiait 
Parker, fonnerly a Fellow and senior Tutor of University* College, 
Oxford. " According to the present practice, the new Fellows are 
elected by the existing Fellows of a College, after open competi- 
tive examination, in Oxford condncted always by flic College, with 
the aid of assessors, if necessarj-, in special subjects. In Cambridge 
the smaUer Colleges elect upon the results of the University 
examinationE. At Oxford a candidate is elected by any other 
College as freely as by his own ; at Cambridge he must be already 
a member of the College elcctirig. AVith this exception as regards 
Cambridge, the Fellows are supposed tn be, and speaking bi-o»dly 
they are, the ablest and most distiupfuished students, selected with 
great impartiality soon after taking their Bacliclor's degree^ in 
general before the age of twenty-five. Once elected, for ■flie 
most part they have no special duties, but are bound in conscienco 
to the best of their ability and judgment to promote the interestB 
of their College and of their University aa a place of religion, 
learning, and education. Most Fellowehipe are tenable for life, 
being vacated only on marriage, or on obtaining a fixed income 
from other sources of £500 or £C0O a year." 

It appears, however, from a i-ehrni furnished to a Committee of 
the House of Lords in 1870. that half of all the Fellows at 
Cambridge, and nearly half of those at Oxford were then in Holy 
Orders, or imder the obligation of proceeding to Holy Orders. 
subject only, in three cusee, tG an exception in favour of those 
holding College offices. A larger propoi-tion of clerical tbnn of 
lay Fellows re«ido in College and take part in tuition, because 
they have a more or less remote pi'ospeot of setthug on a College 
living, and for the same reason the succession of clerical Fcllowa 
is somewhat more rapid. Mr. Pailter calculates the average time 



^^^B^ioU FcUovBhips are held at about ten yeiu'a, from wliicli it 

^^Hks that aliove thirty aro filled iip annually at each University, 

^BUns ndmitted on all hands that FellowBhips are now aM-ardiicI. 

T?nh the rareet exceptions, upou the etrictest considerations of 

acadcmii^l merit ; and it may be confidently aseerted thnt no other 

pTiblic appointments are less tainted — if, indeed, there be any so 

little tainted — with the suspicion of favouritism. Still, there is a 

vagtie impression abroad that many of them are carried off by 

Yomig men of rich parentage, and that, instead of stimnlating 

their poasessors to further exertion, they are apt to deter them 

from embarkiiig on active careers, and to enconrage cultured 

indolence. These are iinpreseions which can only be dispelled 

effectually by evidence of a kind which it is very (hfficult to pi-o- 

cure. Some light, liowever, may be thrown upon the matter by 

tlie examinatiun of a typical sample ; and a careful analysis of 

a body of forty-nine Fellows belonging to three Collegca, ilifTering 

from each other iu aze and character, leads to results which are 

not devoid of interest. It appears that no less than sixteen of the 

whole uiunber are sons of clergyraeii, and two of Dissenting 

miiust^rs, eight of raea engaged in trade or oomjnerciat busiuess, 

five of BoltcitorB, four of lauded proprietors, four of yeomen and 

tenant fanners, three of umplnyiis iu the Civil Sennce, two of 

medical men, one of a member of Parliament, one of a school- 

raaater, one of a Scotch factor, one of a military oiEcer, and one 

"fa clert or accountant, Li short, all but a trifling pcreentage 

are dnivtii from the hard-working professional class ; ancl it may 

b<j stated vnih some confidence that not one is in possession of or 

har to a considerable fortune. A similar inquiry iiito tlie present 

occupation of the same forty-nine Fellows shows that sc\'enteen 

we eugaged in College tuition, five hold other College offices, 

tlrce are Univereity professors, two are preparing thenis-'h-es for 

CoHi-gt- tuition, two are mastere of schools, two are parocliial 

clergymen, four are barristers, four are engaged in literaiy work. 

One 18 a physician, and one a medical student, one is in the Civil 

Sen-ice, and one is an artist ; while of the six who liave no regular 

••oonpatiou. one is tiavelling for his healtli, and three at least are 

fOTiti, lift^-iug given their best years to the service of their 

CoUcffcs and tlit- University. 

Thesf facts Hpeak for themselves, and the iufereuce which they 
wiggest is. iu the main, a true one. So far aa can be ascertained, 
fully half the Fellows of Oxford Colleges arc resident, and nearly 
itUhu resident Fellows aro engaged in public of private tuition. 
Evsn of the nOn-resident FeOows, very few fail to attend College 
tneetiiigs, many perform useful wcnk for their Colleges, atid the 
Tsrt m^'ority are eameetly and hotiourably employed, being very 
often indebted to their Fellowflhips alone for the means of stibsis- 


tenoc during the eaviier stages of their profesBiuiial careers, 
class of proiuieing graduate-B couverted into diktiaiUi loungers bj- 
the onervatbig influouce of Fellowships hae Btarccly any existiiiice, 
except among the delusions of the non-acadfmical mind. Not 
only KO, but it is capable of proof that College Fellowships, instead 
of enervating tboae who obtain theni. have producpd a larger 
pi-opoi-tion of men eminent in Chureh and State than most ttf their 
defendem would venture to claim for them. In order to become 
satisfied of this, we have only to inspect the catalogue of Fellows 
elected duiing the present century at Oriel (^'ollege. wheie open 
competition was firet eetabliahcd at Oxford, and at Trinity 
College, which is not oidy the largest College at Cambridge, but 
virtually the only one which conducts an effective FiOlowship 
examination. The list of Oriel Fellows, dating from 18LHI down- 
wards. fxhibit« but ninety-two names; yet a fnll third nt' these 
are the names of men who have made themselves known in the 
world, and among tliem arc the names of Davison, Wliately, 
Keble, Hajnpden, Thomas Arnold, Hartley Coleridge, J. H. New- 
man, Pusey, Bishop Frafier, and Matthew Arnold, besides others 
wliich may yet become famous. The list of Trinity Fellows for 
the same period, though four times as long, contains a smallor 
proportion of eminent names, like those of Sodgwiclt, WhewelL 
Thiilwall, 5Iacaulay, and Aiiy, hut is slill richer in the nanws of 
mt-n who have vindicated Fellowships against tlie reproach of 
enfeebling moral or intellectual vigour by riang to high stations 
in various practical callings. It would be easy to midtiply siintlar 
arguments, as, for iust^ince, by cituig the present heucli of 
Eughsh archbishops and bishops, twenty-two of whom were edu- 
cated at Oxford or Cambridge, and fifteen of whom were Follows 
of Colleges. If it were possible to lay before the public a list of 
Oxford and Cambridge Fellows who have attained leading pOM- 
tions in the great educational profession, m the Law, in the 
various Government office^ and even in the commercial world, 
little more would be heard of the notion that Fellowsliips quench 
ambition, or bar the road to success; and we might, perhaps, 
have to combat the counter-objection tliat Felloe's of Colleges 
start w4th an unfair advantage in the race of life. 

But no pica for tlie utility of collegiate endowments would be 
complete ^\'ithout a reference to one example, at oucu the moat 
illustrious in the history of science, and the most representative In 
the history of the Fellowship system. If ever there was a genuuie 
product of tliat system, it was Sir Isaac Ntswton. Ilia biogra- 
pher tells us that on matriculating at Cambridge in liis nine- 
teenth year, as a subsizar of Trinity, he manifested no piesage of 
future greatness, and his transcendent superiority to his Unive^; 
eity contemporaries was probably unknown even to himself, "^^~ 


^■"^ N« friMidly cuiiQ^el had regulated Uis youtUful studies, and no work of 
B Ki6Dti&' rlioracter biul guided biia in tiie course. In yielding to tlie 
Iniixilsc of Uis niecliatiical genius lite mind obeyed the laws of its own 
natunJ espiumlou, and following in the line of least resifltance, it was thus 
dntwTi aaiili- from tlie nrecipilons jifttlis which Jt was fitted tjj dimb, and 
the anbacied stroD^hoIds whith it was destined to explore. When Newton, 
cltercfdre, entered Trinity College, he In-ought with lilin a more slender 

f«irlion of science than at his afie falls to the lot of ordinary scholars. . . , 
luiibridg« was cnnsi^inently the real birthplat-e of Newton's genius — her 
insUiuIiuns sastntued his mightiest efforts, nnd within her pi'eciucis were 
&|] his (Uxcovurios made and perfected." 

Ho was admitted to a Fellowship at the age of nearly twenty- 
five, an induBtriouB btit obscure mathematician, who must other- 
wise have sought a livelihood iii some profession or trade. He 
n.i^igned it at the age of fifty-nine, having ennobled his College, his 
T'luremity, and his country, by those immortal discoveries which, 
viowed across the interval of two centuries, still rank foremost and 
highest among the achievements of human intellect. To assume 
that Ktrwton wimld have become the first of natural philosophers 
witbtmt the aid of a Trinity Fellowship, is as chimerical as to 
aettnme tJint Thomas Aijuinas would have become the first ot 
mediaval theologians without having entered a Dominican con- 
vi'tit, or Kaflaelle the firet of modern painters ivithout having 
rended at Florence and Rome. Yet the contributjons of Newton 
aloDo to scii.-nce assuredly outweigh in mere pecuniary value all 
that has been qient on Trinity FoUowships from hia day to our 

It ia true that Newton was a resident Fellow, but it is also true 
that his Fellowship was a pure sinecure, and subject to no con- 
ditions of i-esidenco ; and this was tho footing upon which the 
Oxfiird Commissioners of 1830 deHberatcly recommended that all 
FellnwshipB should be placed. " ^\'e are by no means dispoBcd," 
(hey Nvy, ■■ to impair the value of Fellowships as rewards by 

amipxing to them the statutable condition of reeidence 

^Vhen the Univei-sify shall have been put in a condition to offer 
wfficient iiidiiccments to enable it to retain the beet men iu its 
wrriop, it may with safety leave them to follow their inclinations. 
KdlowB thus elected may safely be allowed to pursue the career 
wliich they deem beat for themselves. They will serve tho 
Inivcreity in their several professions more effectually than they 
could nerve it by residence within its walls." If this judgment is 
to le reversed, the revei-aal should at least be founded on a 
•wioiii eongideration of its probable effect on English society'. In 
"•wniany, we are told. Fellowships are not found neceasarj- ; but in 
Germany (he want of Fellowsliips is partly supplied by a far more 
Wmplete organization of professorial teaching and a far more 
(ftctivc recognition of literary merit by the State, In the United 
8tat« that want ia keenly felt, and the "waste of resources* 

TOL. xivi, a 



deplored by the most cultivated Americans is the waste caused 
by the attraetio!i of money-makiog on the minds of the ablest 
studente, and their premature withdrawal from the Uuivereitj-. 
This is precisely the evil to which the English Fellowship system 
provides a counterpoise, and it is not too much to say that Oxford 
and Cambridge endowments operate as incentives to advanced 
study at the Scotch and Loudon Universities. If a return could 
be procured of the Scotchmen holding Fellowships at Oxford, and 
of the graduates of the London University holding FcUowships 
at Cambridge, it would be seen how much these ill-endowed 
Universities owe to their wealthier sisters. Even if the Fellowship 
system were less fniitfiil in visible results than it can ho shown to 
be— even if the modest competence which it oflers to young men 
of literary and scientific capacity were more frequently th 
away — even if it were not one of the few avenues by v 
humble merit can attain promotion — its unseen influenci 
raising the standard of culture throughout all the learned 
fessions, in Parliament, in official life, and, above all, in the Pi 
would still remain to be estunated. Perhaps, upon taking etoofc 
of these and many otlier collateral benefits which it derives from 
the Fellowship system, the Nation may arrive at the conclusion that, 
after all, no other £205,000 of public money is more profitably 
spent, and that, regarded simply as an experiment, that system 
does not compare unfavourably with far more costly cxpeiiments 
iu gunnery and naval architecture. 

III. But it does not by any means follow that no improvemeuta 
are possible in the collegiate institutions of Oxford and Cambridge, 
or that what is already bearing good fruit may not, by judicious 
pruning, be enabled to bring forth more fruit. Ou the contrary. 
University reformers, for the most part, agree in liolding that all 
Fellowships, unless attached to College offices or otherwise specially 
reserved, should be terminable mthin a fixed period, instead of 
being tenable for life or during ceKbacy. Such a change of tenure, 
especially if coupled with provisionB connecting a certain propoi^ 
tion of Fellowships with the professionB of Law and Medicine, would 
ftppear to secure the maximum of advantage, and the minii 
of disadvantage, incident to a system of academical pent 
awarded by competitive examination. It is one of the chi 
recommended in an important memorial presented to Mr. Glat 
in 1873 by 142 Heads, ProfcBsora, Fellows, Tutora, LccUirere, 
Office-hoidere of the University of Cambridge. It is embodi* 
a series of resolutions passed by the Warden and Fellows of 
College in the same year, it has been actually adopted in the 
statutes of Baltiol College now in force, and it forms part of a1 
every scheme hitherto pi-oposed for the reconstitutJon of Colli 
Supposing this change to be carried out, it m;iy be recki 



liKlEtdlT that it woiUd liberate abont three-tentlia of the income 
nrrw attuually received by uim-rosident Fellows, and perliapa one- 
twith of tliat received by vesidont Fellowa — tJjat is, about £40,000 ; 
a year. Wu may safi-ly add a saviug of £10,000 a year or more 
on nich items oh augmentations of benefices, and take credit for 
a present sarplns of at least £.)0,0i>0 a year, to be here:»fter in- 
creased as leases fall ui. What, thou, are the claims upon this 
nirpluB, and in what order should they be satiated .' 

Host certainly the iii-et and strongest olaiin ie that for the 
iliivflopmont uf the highest academical education ^vithiu the 
Univeisitiee themselveB. This claim mu»t equally take precedence 
nl'tlint for the encouragement of original research, and of that for 
the extension of University lectures to popidous towns. It is by 
t"iif;uDt rating, and not by dispersing, the vital energies of the 
UmveiiritieB, by exalting their edueational function rather than by 
imnng the monastic idea ol' seif-cultnrc, that we shall best 
1^^ th^m for the good of the whole Katiou. Accordingly, the 
fnTcaoriate ought to be cansidL'rably but gi-adimlly increasedi 
not accoriling to an abstract standard of perfection, nor out of 
all proportion to the practical di.'inand for professorial teacliing, 
but somewhat in advance of that demand, and with due regard to 
u pniper subdiWaion of great subjecta. In reply to inquiries from 
llie Vioe-Chancellor; the vaiioiu* Boards of Studies at Oxford made 
requiifitious amoimting in the aggregate to £30,lXW or £40,000 a 
jwiir. Must reformers will, however, bo content to dispense for 
tliepniseut with separate Frofessora of Egyptian and Chinese; a 
liUle coueohdation and modification of (JoUegc lectureships would 
pro^de for many of the readerships contemplated, and many 
Piufeaaira might be partially endowed by the mmplc process of 
iiunmng College Fellowships to tlicir officea This union of tlie 
■^illegiate witli the profeseoriat system has already been found to 
^ott admirably, enlisting the interest of the College in Univei-sity 
•eacliing, and giving the Professor the inestimable advantage of 
aiURftdemical home. On the whole, an afwigimient of £15,000 at 
^■aeliUQiversitj- would be a hberal contribution from College fuinls 
''Jwirds the further endowment of Professoi-sliips, considering that 
most of the detailed tuition ie and will continue to be supphud by 
•Allege lectures. In thus increasing the endowment of Professor- 
"liipt!, we shall already have pro\-ided hi the best possible manner 
^"^ the ttdvancement of " mature study " and " original research." 

'Tie most original and productive of German Professors are 
ititoiioasly men who delight in commuiiicatiug their knowledge 
'" olasseK of jjupils, and it would be difGcnlt to conceive a life 
luiire fftvoarable to independent study than one in which tho year 
" oiiUttllj- dinded between tenn-time and vacations, and the 
nuinlniT «f lectures reiiuired in term-timu is vciy modeiate. If 
G 2 


THE COyrKMfoRAky liEViKW. 

there be a residue of shideiits ciipable ttf advancing sri("iico atifl 
learning, but not installed in Prolossorships, the caite may be met 
by allowing C^JllGge8 to elect them as FcIIowh ^vifhout c-xaminatioii, 
and by a properly i-egnlated nvBtem of grants for Rpecial under- 
takings, either litei-ary or scientific. It would be necfswiry to create 
a common fimd applicable to finch iibjects. as well as t-o the main- 
tenance of librariea, mnseumB, labnratcirieB, and other I'niversity 
eetablishments, and we can hardly allot leae than £10,01)0 to each 
Univei-sity for such purposes. This £-20,(K«), with the £30.000 to 
be employed in augmenting the Professoriate, wimld absorb tho 
■whole present mirphiR of £oO,0(H). and nothhig would Iw left for 
XTniverRity teaching in populous towns. 

It does not, however, follow that Oxford and Cambridge must 
turn a deaf ear to applications for aid fi-om the prouinteis of 
provincial Univeraity Colleges, or innist too pedantically on the 
Bound principle that it is their own business to furnish men, 
and that of the applicants to furnish money. Mr. (Joldwin 
Smith tnil^- says that "paying fur the education uf gi-eat. 
cities, which ai-e well able to pay for themselves, and. if 
they were in America, would have dune it twice over, ie not a 
proper use of academical funds, at least till all academical 
purposes have been exhausted ;" nor must it be forgotten that 
Oxford and Cambridge already maintain a reservoir nf teachers 
who. by virtue of holding Fellowships, are able and willing to 
lectui-e in great cities on teiTns far below the market value of 
their services, Nevertheleia, " there is that scattereth and yet 
increaseth," and it is quite possible to suggest a mode whereby 
College endowmentsmaybe indirectly made available for Univwsity 
teaching in populous towns \vithont being detached from the cor- 
porations to which they belong. Ten yeare ago an infltiGntiHl 
committee was appointed at Oxford *' to fmme the detflila of a 
scheme for the extension of the University by the afEhation of other 
places of hberal education." The committee reported in favour uf 
authorizing the University to affiliate Colleges situnted ui any part 
of England or Wales, and of allowing residence in nftiUated Colleges 
to coimt as residence in the Univeraity for a jieriod of two years 
from matriculation, under conibtions which they proceeded ti> 
define. This plan, with one additional feafiire, appears exactly 
adapted to meet the demands of large pro%'incial onnimmnties, eo 
ably stated, on behalf of Bristol, in a pamphlet by the Rev. J. 
Percival, head master of Clifton College. All that is needed l-o 
supplement it is a provision that actual service in teacliing at one 
of the affiliated Colleges shall coimt as seri'ice in a Collego office 
nt the University it8elf,"iu order that a Fellow thus engaged may 
be able to retain his Felloweliip beyond the etatntable pcrioiL 
Tliis aiT.ingement woidd be simpler than that proposed by Mr. 



I'tercival, and would affmil a guurautt-u agaiiiat tlio risk of sliort- 
UtccI counectiuuB botwcfu individual CoUegoB ami local institutiotis 
too iDimaturu tu be accreiHti^d by the Univci-sity, It would, more- 
over, involve no real eucroacliiiient on ColU'ge funds, inaemucli as 
the tuiiiibtT of College FuUowsliips would rfinain inluft, ouly the 
i»te of BUccoBsion being slightly retanled, and one or two Fellows 
in each College being diverted from piofeasioital avocations to 
more congenial and nicire useful labours in provincial capitals. The 
Advantage of establishing relutious of this Idud between the older 
Univendties and the great commercial aud mauufactuiTiig centres, 
woatd not only be reciprocal, as Mr. Parker observes, but in thu 
highest sense national. It is certain, on the one hand, that more 
aud more power is passing, for good or evil, into the hands of 
the mercantile plutocracy. It is certaiix, on the otlier hand, that 
the mercantile plutocracy is making httle, if any, progress in the 
higher culture, which can alone qualify it for political ascendancy, 
and is even declining in this respect, relatively, to otlier classes of 
society. Since experience has 8ho^vn that, notwithstanding the 
abolition of tests and the expansion of the University curriculutn. 
young men destined for bnsuiess seldom avail thoiiiaelves of 
Univtreaty education at Oxford or Cambridge, the problem is to 
place University education witliin their reach, without lowering 
its easuntial character. This may ha done by means of afRUated 
Oolites, which shall be rirtually local brauchea of the central 
DwTemty, pving instruction of the best kind to all who attend 
tiuir lectures, and attracting some to complete their studies at the 
Univermty itself, 

The main results of our inquiry may be summed up in a very- 
few wntonces. Though it is possible to alter tho present appli- 
<»tion of Academical Endowments for the better, it would be far 
WMPr to alter it for the worse ; and a recognition of the great 
wriicL-a actually rendered by the Universities to the Nation, is the 
only Bound basis for a new measure of University vefonn. Tho 
leading object of such a measure should Vie to strengthea tho 
UniTereities, as fountains of educational and intellectual life, by 
UtTBasing the professorial staff; by extending the University 
KoririeB, museimis, galleries, and lecture rooms ; by fostering mi- 
'Wnunerative study, an well as scientific training for professions, 
*ithm College walls; by trcntingboth Scholarships and Fellowships 
** designed to raise up an aristocracy of education ; by relieving 
Colleges of all ecclesiasticiil trammels ; aud by making them hviug 
pwiaoftlie Universities, without destroying their corporate indi- 
ininHlity. The secondary object, in order of importance but not 
of time, should be to bring the Universities into organic connection 
^ith local "faculties." or riither with collegiate institutions, in great 
eitics, by means of iifRliiition or otherwise. To effect these r.bjeeta 


the aid of Parliament ^vill be necessary, inasmuch as even if it 
"were legally possible for the Universities and Colleges to legislate 
on so large a scale, Avith the approval of the Crown, it would be 
morally impossible for so many independent societies to legislate 
in perfect unison with each other. The recent failure of an attempt 
to establish a system of self-taxation among Oxford Colleges was 
not required to prove how vain it is to expect that a complete and 
harmonious scheme for their ovm reorganization will be initiated 
by the Universities themselves. The official responsibility of 
fmming the scheme must be undertaken by a body representing^ 
either the Crown or the Legislature, but its details will have to 
be wrought out, as its principles have already been thought out, 
by Oxford and Cambridge men of a like spirit with those who 
for twenty-five yeai-s have so earnestly and so unselfishly laboured 
to nationahze both the endowments and the culture of the old. 
English Universities. 

George C. Brodrick. 

npHE first English translatiou of the KurdQ was made from the 
•*- French of Audr^ du Ryer by one Alexander Ross, and published 
in Londun in 1649. It is accompanied by an Introrluction, styled " A 
neeiifiil Caveat or Admonition," which nms thus : " Good reader, the 
grfltt Arabian impostor, now at last, after a thousand years, is, by the 
way of France, arrived in England, and his Alcoian, or Gallimaufry 
of Errors, fa Brat as deformed ob the Parent, and as full of Heresies 
a) bis scald Lead was of scurf), hath learned to speak English." The 
cdncation of two centuries has chastened the style of our national 
literatnre and added much to our knowledge of Eastern subjects 
generally ; nevertheless, there is good ground for presuming that 
tne fortuning description of the Kuran and of its reputed author ia 
in accordance, suhstantially, with the views still held by the great 
majority of Englishmen. Numerous writers subsequent to Robs, 
^it in modiBed language, have amplified his detractions; f«w,. 
*ith the exception of crotchety theorists and recreant eulogists, 
*bage adulations of Muhammad are as cxa^erated as the aspersioss 
ibey assail, have attempted or dared to confront them. Mr. Bosworth 
Smnii U an apologist of a di£ferent stamp. He writes as a Christian, 
M() A genuine catholic spirit pervades his lectures, the main object 
of which he boldly avows is, " if possible, to render some measure 
of ibftt justice to Mohammed and to his religion which lias beeor 


all too long, and is still all too generally. Jenied to tlicm." ^fe 
briogs to the chivalrous task conaideraWe reseorcli among tbe beat 
European orientalists, and has executej it throughout with a union 
of candour and reverence befitting a subject of such momentous im- 
portance as the religious creed of a sixth of tlie human race. Naught 
has been set down by him in malice ; and if, as many perchance may 
be disposed to judge, he ha'i overdj-awn the merits and glosaed over 
the defects of his clients, the brief which ho holds, and the laudable 
motives which induced him to take it up, will be held by all generoua 
minds to excuse the undue partiality of the advocate. 

The first lecture treats of Comparative Religion, in which at the 
outset the author lays down the propositions that all the great 
historical religions of the world — he instances Judaism, Buddh- 
ism, and Christianity — "have been in the first instance moral 
rather than theological ; have been called into existence to meet 
social and national needs ; have raised man gi'adually towards God, 
rather than brought down God at once to man ;" and, further, that 
" a new religion is, in order of time, the outcome and not the cause 
of a geneiul movement towards a liigher Hfe. whether moral or 
national." These debatable theses are very biieily discussed, and 
it is just as well that it should be so, for their bearing on the theme 
in hand is not made so apparent to others as it doubtless was to the 
miud of the lecturer. He is more to the point when he vindicates 
the intei'est which ought to be felt in Islam, notwithstanding the 
charge brought against it of its want of originality ; and then goes on 
to show that what it loses on that score it gains in the greater 
fulness of our knowledge of its origin. Mr. Smith candidly admita 
that "a vague and hearsay acquaintance with the Old Testament 
the Talmud, and the New Testament, and the undefined religious 
cravings of a few of his predecessors, or contemporaries, influenced 
Mohammed much, and traces of them at second hand may be found 
in every other page of the Koran j " . , . . " But what then I " he 
asks: "Is a religion IcM true because it recogniKcs itself in other 
garbs, because it incorporates in itself all that is btst in the system 
which it expands or supplants % " Not necessarily ; and it may further 
be conceded that -' the founder of a religion which is to last must read 
the spiritual needs of a nation correctly," and that doing so " heueed 
not care about any originality beyond that which such insight implies; 
he will rather do well to avoid it." Butis this insight all that Mr. Smith 
claims for Muhammad ? The reader is at a loss to answer the query, 
which nevertheless is one of vital importance in connection with this 
disquisition. He de.scribes the Kuran as "a book absolutely unique 
in its origin, in its preservation, and in the chaos of its contents • <^^^ 
There, if in any book, we have a mirror of one of the masteivspi^^^H 
the world; otlen inartistic, incoherent, self-contrudiitory, doD^^^H 
impregnated with a few grand ideas which stand out fi-om the ^^^^| 



I fflind scptliing with tlio icspi ration peut up within it, ' intoxicated 
fith CloU,' but full of huuiiLQ weukuesses." Anil iu anotUer place he 
«ks, with implied rcfercnct; to Muhammad and Islam : "Will any 
fsBSi say that there is no real revelation of Ood in the noble lives of 
Confucius and Buddha, and no Aagments of Divine truth iu the 
pure morality of tho syatcnw winch Uiey founded t " It depends on 
tke tue&nin^ whicli the author attaches to the words " inspiration " 
and " revelation " how fai- the title of the " Apostle of Gud " is, in 
his eiitimation, applicable to Muhammad, and to what extent the 
Kuiin command!) belief. Apart from aiul beside the scientiRe aspect 
of the question, Muslims aud Christians generally hold strong opinions 
on the subject of inspiration. According to the former, the KuriUi 
was " composed by God," " sent down from the Lord uf all creatures," 
"a book of infinite value," a copy from "' the original, written in the 
preserved book," or the vuUime of decrees kept in the seventii heaven, 
Bodaa such they claim fur it a verbal, literal, aud mechanical intei- 
pretalion. Christians, on the other hand, whilst ready, fur the most 
part, to admit a human element pei'vading their sacred books, never- 
viiclesa regard tliera as containing a directory, supernatu rally revealed, 
fcn buinim faith aud practice, as a code uf moral laws with divine 
ttoctions of tremendous import attached to their observance aud in- 
fraction. In which category dues Mi-. Smith placu the Kuriin J He 
certainly leads his readers to infer that he is far from taking the 
Mudim view, and he explicitly avows that the Christian Scriptures 
"stand as a whole on a far higher level than any other sacred books, 
aod that the ideal life of Cliristianity, while it is capable of including 
llie highest idvals of other creeds, cannot itself be attained by any 
ont; ot them," His theory, indeed, as regards the Ruruu, seems to 
t*, that what of truth it contains is " inspired," independently of 
vriginality, and of what is commonly understood by "revelation;" but 
itwoalJ have been more satisfactory had he treated this part of his 
wliject with greater precision. 

Biilhowever much or little inspired,itisnndeniable that probably one 
hunrftwl and fifty millions of the world's inhabitants regard the Kurflu 
"""mi explication of everything necessary both as to failh and practice, 
""•l s direction, and mercy, and good tidings unto the Muslims," to 
Joubt one jot or tittle of which is to incur the guilt and punishment 
ofapostacy. Mr. Smith's review of tho early conquests of Isliira and 
iti rapid extension, mainly by the sword, during its infancy, and its 
*<ih!ennent propagation by peaceful means, is as accurate as it i.i 
eotcise. Equally true it is that, at the ou'^et, Ish'im effected a vast 
OWnl and social reformation among the Arabs and other pagan 
Wtions, leading them to abjure idolatry with many of its attendant 
TUKi^and that its later progress among the negro races of Africa 
J™, on the whole, been foUowed by similar beneficial results: — 
did filth is ruplaced Vjy a scrupulous cleanliness ; hospitality 


I>ecoiiies a religious duty; dninkemiess, instead of the rule, becomes 
a compftratively rare exception. .... It is idleness heticerorw.-ird 

that degrades, and industry elevates, instead of the reverse 

The Mosque gives an idea of architeclui'c at all events higher than 
any the negro has yet had. A thirst for literature is created, aiiil 
that for works of science and philosophy as well as for conomentaries 
of the Koran." 

It is undoubtedly melancholy to contrast this later progress of 
Islam, not only in Africa but in India and China also, witli the com- 
paratively small Buccess achieved by devoted missionaries of the 
Cross in those countries. How is this to be accoimted for \ Tixa 
lecturer saya truly enough that the various and often conflicting ex- 
planations hitherto given by Christian apologists are far from 
satisfactory. The " lax morality of the Koran," which is one of the 
staple solutions ndduced, is inapplicable in cases where the converts 
are from creeds allowedly much inferior in purity t« that of Idflm. 
Neither is it probable that the sensual Paradise promised to believer^, 
with its delectable gardens, perennial fountains, beauteous damsels. 
and eteiTial repose on green cushions and splendid carpets, has much 
influence in such conversions. The picture of an immortality such 
as this, de.scribed to them in the glowing poetry of their own tongue, 
may have exerted a powerful influence on the Arabs of the desert ; 
but as there is no good ground for believing that this sensual reward 
is prominently held out as an inducement to foreign proselytes — to 
whom for the most part moreover the language of the Kurun is a 
dead letter— we cannot regard Muhammad's Paradise as afTordiog a 
reasonable solution of the modern successes of Isliinu 
. Mr. Smith, whilst admitting the difficulty here presented, evidently 
hesitates to meet it. It is not within a reviewer's province to 
supplement his treatise ; nevertheless, the importance of the subject 
promf)t8 mc to do so. In the first place, iben, the Muslim formula, 
" There is no god but God, and Muhamma<l is the Apostle of God." 
has this advantage over the Christian, especially with barbarous or 
half-civilized races, that Jt is far more simple, is easier to be leanit, 
and conveys in one utterance all that is necessary to be believed 
in order to salvation. Tlie New Testament is not wanting in similar 
brief symbols, e. ij., " Tliis is life eteioal that they might know Thee, 
the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom Thou hast sent ;" or Acta 
xviL 31. The exigencies of Christianity, which in Christendom have 
led to metaphysical amplifications of these summary professions of 
faith, have placed a serious difficulty in the way of missionaries to 
non-Christian peoples, who are incapable at the outset of apprehend- 
ing complex truths, and find it difticuli even to retain them in memory. 
to say nothing of other rigorous hut salutary conditions attached to 
induction into Ihe Church. A still more potent reason is the fact 
that Christianity incidcates a far Idglicr morality than the KunVn, 



waA mokes heaven tlie final reward, nut of t!ie bare professors of ite 
tanebi, but of tbe truly penitent and tbora who love as well as fonr 
God, Orantad that in one senae — not " in any sense of the word," 
w Mr. Smith avers — "Mobaintned'sisnol an easy or sensual religion;" 
oevertkeless, thabeslthat can bo said of it is. that it inculcates external 
rectitude only, with the adjuncts of mechanical devotions, the outward 
pefforroance of which is all that is insisted on. How ca^y these duties 
itro oompured with the requirements of Christianity, and hence, as I 
ventare to suggest, how much more readily accepted by those to 
wboin both are newly presented, I leave to be inferred from this 
■tiiking contrast by Mr. Smith himself:^ — 

-The religion of Christ contains whole fields of morality and 
whole realms of thought which are all but outside the religion of 
Uobommed, It. opons humility, purity of faeai-t, forgivunesij of 
injuries, sacrifico of self to man's moral nature ; it gives scope for 
tolvration, development, boundless progress to bis mind; its motive 
power is stronger, even as love is higher than obedience. Its realised 
ideals in the various paths of human greatness have been more 
commanding, more many-eided, more holy, aa Averroes is below 
Newton. Haroun beiow Alfred, and Ali below St. PauL Finally, the 
ideal life of all \a far more elev.-vttng, far more majestic, far more 
tnspring, even as the life of the foimder of Mohammedanism is 
b«)ow the life of the founder of Christianity. ..." "Nor are the 
iQ«tliod3 of drawing near to God the same in both relio^ions. The 
MoEsalman giuns a knowledge <^ God — he can hanily bo said to 
approach Him by listening to tlie lofty message of God's Prophet. The 
Christian believes that he approaches God by a pi-oceaa which, how- 
e»er difficult it may Iw to duGne, yet has had a real meaning to 
Cbrist'3 servants, and has embodied itself In countless types of Chris- 
two character — that mysterious something which St. Paul calls a 
'anion with Christ.' "Ye are dead, and your life is hid with Chri.'it 
in Ood.' ■' 

Id the second Lecture Ur. Smith, after a concise notice of the 
different religions which existed in Arabia, and adverting to the 
"Bocial and religious upheaving" among the Arabs at that period, 
proceeds to describe the uneventful early career of Muhammad, his 
personal piety, and first entrance upon the office of an apostle •.— 

" He waa melancholy in temperament, to begin with ; he was also 
xnbjcot to.epilepticfitB, upon which Spreiiger has laid great .stress and 
described most minutely, and which nndcr the namt; of the ' .Sticred 
disease ' among the Greeks, or ' possession by the devil ' among the 
• Jews, biks in most countries been looked upon as something specially 
nystefioos or supernatural. It is possible that his interviews with 
HaBtAviaQ manke, with Zeid, or with his wife's cousin Waraks, raay 
iumt turneA Ivia mind in Oie precise direct-ion they look Dojection 
alternated with excitement — these gave place to ccstacy or dreams 


and in a Jream, or tranco, or &t, he saw an angel la human fMtn, 
but flood td with celestial tight and displaying a silver roll. 'Read,' 
said the angel ' I cannot read," said Mohammed. The injunction 
and the answer were twice repeated. ' Read,' at last said the angel, 
' in the namo of the Lord, who created man out of a clot of blood ; 
read, in the name of the Most Uigli, who taught man thi.' use of the 
pen, who sheds on his soul the ray of knowledge, and teaches him 
what before he knew not.' Upon this Uohammcd Ml thu heavenly 
inspiration, and read the decrees of God, vihick lie aftenvarda pro- 
mulgated in ilic Koran. Then came the announcement, ' O, Moham- 
med, of a truth thou art the Pi-ophet of God, and I am his angel 
Gabriel.' " 

Attention is called to the two sentences in the furegoing quotation 
whicli are not underlined in the original. Taking into consideration 
what is admitted of Muhammad's hysterical temperament, they do 
not militate against his sincerity at this Juncture ; neve it he less, the 
first is incutisistfiit with the idea of immediate inspiration, and the 
second, if true— which it would be impious to suppose,-^ akes the 
" decrees of God " directly responsible for the many auackronisms, 
contradictions, and incongruities contained in the Kuriin, V Fairly 
considered," however, says Mr. Smith, " there ia no single trai\in his 
[Muhammad's] character up to the time of the Hegira which ca&may 
itself could cijiiph; with imposition." Admitted ; but notwilhstaodiag 
the author's ehibovate explanations, and solely ou his own showln 
few will be disposed to believe that there was " no gradual sappingVf 
moral principle, and no deadening of conscience," in Muhammad* 
subsequent conduct, when, as he says : — 

" The revelations of the Koran ai'e more and more suited to the 
particular circumstances and caprices of the momeut. Theji are 
often in the nature of political bulletins or uf personal apologies, 
rather than of messages direct from God. Now appears for the first 
time the convenient but dangerous doctrine of abrogation, by which 
a subsequent revelation might supersede a previous one." jlgain: 
"The limitations to the unbounded Ucense of Oriental polygamy, 
which he himself had imposed, he relaxes on his own behalf , . , . 
The public opinion even uf the harem was scandalised by his na&r- 
I iage with Mary, an EgypLtau, a Christian, and a slave. His marriage 
wilhZainab, the wife of Zeid his frecilman and adopted sou, divorced 
as she was by Zeid for the express purpose that Mohammed roiglil; 
marry her, was still worse. It was felt an outrage even upon the 
lax morality of an Oriental nation, till all reclamations were hushed 
into silence by a sura of the Koran which rebuked Mohammed, not 
for laxity, but for hia undue abstinence!" Further, "the doctrine 
of toleration graiiually becomes ouo of exteiinination ; persecuted no 
longer he becomes a pei'seculor himself. He is ouce or twice untrue 
to the kind and forgiving dispoiiition of his best nature ; and iuMj^ 



or twice unrelentiug in iho punishment of liis {lersonRl enemies, 
e»peci&Uy of the Juws. . . . He is even guilty more than once of con- 
DiTing at tho asaaasinatioii of inveterate opponents ; and the mas- 
Bicraof the Bani Koi-eit£a, . . .Judged by any but an Oriental standaid 
4 moralitr. was, in ali its accetiaories, an act of cohl-blooded and 
inbuman atrocity." 

This 'i» a tolerality long bill of indictment, not bo much against one 
who unifutmly confus-sed that he was full of human weaknesses, but 
i^ainst the man whu maintained to the end " that the words he spoke 
were the very words of Ood." If such was his sincere conviction he 
nu unquestionably self-deceived ; if it vta not — which I neither 
tftirm nor deny — ho was an impostor. 

" Mohammedanism " is the subject of the thii-d Lecture ; not what 
Uutt creed is at the present day. but as it is revealed in the Kur&Q — 
ft (iistinctiim of the utmost consequence, on which I shall have a few 
words to Bay anon. Its essence is not merely '' tiie Gubhme belief in 
ike unity of Uod," but the re-assertion of what had been the life of 
Uie old Hebrew nation — " that God not only lives, but that He is a 
righteous and merciful ruler; and that to His will it is the duty and 
the privili'j;e of all living men to bow." Hence it is styled by 
Muhammad himself " Islam," or the resignation of self [to God], 
Bod belicvrrs are " Muslimun " {A nglice, Muslims), or thoso who so 
nurender themselves [to God], The lecturer, however, proceeds to 
lemnTk tliiit this assertion of the unity of God was " no mere pla- 
giiriam from an older faith." The Jews of that period, notwith- 
nuiding their abjuration of idolatry, still clung to their proud 
Rligiouft p^i^^legea. To them the Most High was " the God of 
llie Jews only ;" while " euch Christians as Mojiaromed had ever 
met had foi^ott<.-n at once the faith of tJie Jews, and that higher 
melation of God given to them by Christ, which the Jews re- 
jected. Homoosians and Homoiousiana, Monothelites and Mono- 
pliysites, Jacobites and Eutychiaus, making hard doctrines of 
things wherein the sacred writeis themselves liod made no dogma, 
disputing fiercely whether what was mathematically false could 
be metaphysically true, and nicely discriniiuatiitg the shades of 
tmtii and falsehood in tho view su^estod to bridge over the 
abysmal gulf between them ; turning figures into facts, rhetoric 
into logic, and poetry into prose, had forgotten the unity of 
God, while they were disputing about it most loudly with their 

It requires no great knowledge of ecclesiastical history to supple- 
ment Mr. Smith's list of the controversies touching the Divinity and 
Inurnation of Christ, and the doctrine of the Trinity, which dis- 
(raotol the Christian Church prior to and at the commencement of 
thflievenlh century. The candid inquirer, indeed, who recalls the 
di^utntions which gave rise to the title of '"Theotokos" will 



ceaee to wonder that tlie Almighty is represented in tbc Kunu tmt 
inquiring of Jesus the eon of Maty, " Hasl tliou B»id unto men. Take 
me and my mother for two Gods, beside God t " or that the sanm 
book classes Chiistiaas with " Polytheista," when he remembers that 
the celebrated John Philoponus, who died in 610, taught that Father, 
Sou, and Holy Ghost were three diMtiuct Gods. Pictures aud ixDagex 
too had been introduced into Christian worship, and their adoration 
firmly established before the end of the sixth century. One may 
hesitate to say, in view of the then distractions and corrnptions of 
the Church, which have been barely glanced at, how far contemporary 
Chrifltianity was answerable for the rise and early progress of Ld&m. 
That they gave point to some of Muhammiid's denunciations, and, 
considering his ignorance of the New Testament scriptures, go fkr to 
justify bis charges against the form of Christianity of which alone 
he bad any knowledge, no ingenuous critic wIU deny. Is i 
probable, moreover, that the continual prevalence of divisions^ 
corruptions in the Church constitutes a serious drawback t 
spread of the Gospel amongst Muslims ? 

Mr. Smith admits that there is no more onginality in the < 
articles of the faith of lalfLm — the written revelation of God's will, 
the responsibility of man, the existence of angels and Jinn, the 
future life, the resurrection, and the final judgment — than he had 
claimed for the doctrine of the unity of God, as proclaimed by 
Muhammad ; neither were the four practical duties thereby enjoined 
— prayer, almsgiving, fasting, pilgrimage — more original in tlieir con- 
ception. (By the way, I confess myself at a loss to understand the 
lecturer's remark about the Pilgrimage, that " in theory and in reailtj^ 
it is alien alike to Mohammedanism and Ghnstianity," cousidt 
that the KurAn makes the Hajj an imperative obiigatioa i 
Muslims.) The germ or the development of all these " revels^ 
and enactments pre-existed in the systems, eitlier of Jews, 1 
trians, or Christians; but the faith which influenced MiihammiKl 
most was Judaism : — " the Koran teems with ideas, allusions, and 
even phraseology, drawn not so much from the written as from tho 
oral Jewish law, from the trailitions that grew round it, and the 
commentaries on it," namely, from the Talmud. As to the Knrjta 
itself, which in his first Lecture he had described as " often iaart 
isooherent, self-contradictory, dull, but impregnated with a few g 
ideas which stand out from the whole," he now aptly says tl)A( 
defies analysis," aud having himself read it repeatedly througho| 
in a foreign translation-— both in the orthodox and chronological a 
he fratddy admits that even " the impoitanoe of the subject it hi 
the UQique interest attaching to tbe speaker, and the 
reverence with which every utterance ia still regarded by so I 
portion of the world, ore insufficient; to redeem it firom this g 
reproach," namely, that of dulness. Of its literary merits— ii^ 

za aujue 
( it nob, I 


le oVUh I 

.d's wiU, 

inn, the 
he had 

med by 


leir cou- 
.tand the 
in reality. -,. 
a d^^H 



Di^Kal, of course, — dinmctrically opposite opinions have been beld 
by tlm Jiterati of the East as well as the West My own opinion, if 
it iswDTtli anything, is — that the <liction of the KudLn ia faultleaa ; 
that it coDtnine passages of exquisite sublimity, often marred by 
iincOQMisaut refrains apparently introduced merely for the sake of 
riiftlitn ; that sound rather than substance waa tiie tliief aim of the 
aatfaor; and that ita literary excellencies have been equalled, if not 
Airpused, by more than one Arabian poet Although, in one place, 
Mr. Smith says that, " on its authenticity no one has been able to 
cast a serious doubt," nevertheless, taking into consideration the 
fbUowing accurate account of its composition, outside critics may 
fairly qnestiou whether the existing version contains the ipaiaaimui 
wHw of the author : — 

"Dictated from time to time by Mohammed to his disciples, it was 
by them partially treasured in their memories, partly written down 
on skiulder bones of mutton or oyster-shells, on bits of wood or tablets 
of itoDB, which, being thrown pell-mell into boxes, and jumbled up 
tugellier, like the leaves of the Curaeau Sybil after a gust of wind, 
irero not put into any shape at all till after the Prophet's death by 
onler of Abu Bakr. The work of the editor consisted simply in 
MTingiDg the Suras in the order of their respective lengths, the 
longest first, the shortest last ; and though the book once afterwards 
paased through the editor's hands, this is substantially the shape In 
KliJch the Koran has come down to us. Various readings, which 
would seem, however, to have been of very slight Importajice, having 
ctopt into the diffei'ent copies, a revising committee was appointed 
by Older of the Kaiiph Othman, and, an authorized eilition having 
lhn» been prepared ' to prevent the texts differing, like those of the 
Jeirs and Clirifitians,' all previous copies were collected and burnt I " 
One could have wished that, in order to give no place to miscon- 
UruGtioD, the lecturer had stated his views more explicitly on the 
nunealousoeHS claimed by Mnhammad himself and his followers for 
<l>e EnrAii ; and tliat besides giving, as he has done, some specimens 
ofitmblime and vivid description.'! — ^proofs of the " poetic inspira- 
^" of llubnmmad — he had not omitted to point out, otherwise 
tlian in general terms, the numerous fables, discrepancies, contradic- 
tom, anachronisms, and distorted quotations from pre-existing 
^Hbny, to be met tvitli throughout its pages. Mr. Smith's remarks 
«" Mohammed's attitude to [other] Miracles," and the doctrine of 
"Fitttima" attributed to him, are judicious and unbiassed. The 
■UW doctrine of God's foreknowledge on the one hand, and of His 
■<^ intervention of human aSairs on the other, "inspired the 
wlj UoBSulmans, in the new burst of life breathed into them 
■f Jftdiftmtnied, with double enei^ and double enthusiasm, as in 
■tir beet days it inspired the Puritans, the Covenanters, and the 
r%rim Ffttbers. But to their descendants in their more normal 


state — the lethargic Soufy, the brooding Sepoy, tlio insensate Tniit)' ' 
and, I would add, to those religious people wlio refuse to preTent the 
miseries and the diseases which Nature they think has attached to 
guilt — it furnishes with a new excuse for that life of inactivity to 
which they are already too much disposed, since they believe that 
ihey are aocjuiet^cing, as in duty bound, in the immutable decrees of 

Tlie lectmer labours Iiard, and with considerable ingenuity, to 
palliate Muhammad's uae of the sword, which he frankly admita to be 
"an essential part of Islflm." The admission stamps it not only as 
inhuman and retrograde, but diametrically opposed to the teaching 
and example of Jesus, which the " revelations " of its author pretend 
at one time to confirm, and at another to supersede. The important 
point to be borne in mind here is not, what is "intelligible and 
natural" in an ordinaiy mortal, nor the "exigencies" which may drive 
such an one to unsheathe the swoni, but what we are justified in 
expecting from one who claimed to be " the Apostle of God and the 
Sciil of the Prophets." Moreover, the necessity for the continued use 
of the sword, in order to the maintenance of the integrity of Islam, 
which Mr. Smith puts with much force in the subjoined quotation, 
may well make humanity shudder at the thought of its possible 
revival : — 

" In the middle ages the vitality and energy of Mohammedanism 
evidenced itself most clearly, not in Arabia, or Persia, or Africa, where 
its success was most complete, but in the Christian border lands, in 
Spain, in Pale.stine, in Asia Minor, where the crusading spirit was 
most evoked. Where there was no outlet for an active, and even a 
material warfare, against what was believed to be evil, there corrup- 
tion crept in, and stealthily paralyzed all the energies of Mussulman 
society. ' Corrwpiio aptimi Jit pesshna.' Ommiade and Ahb&sidc. 
and Fatimite Kaliphs; Ghaznevide, and Seljukian, and Ottoman 
Sultans passed through the same dreary stages of luxury and decay ; 
and the government that now represents, or mis-represents, th« 
Ivnliphate, has, in the hands of the Ottoman Turks, ever since tbeir 
faith ceased to be miUtant, become the moat hopeless of despotisms," 

That this picture of the gi-adual decadence of Isl&m is not over- 
drawn, and that its actual condition, morally and socially, politically 
and tndustriall}', in countries under Muslim rule, is still more abject 
and deplorable, none will venture to deny. That Mr. Smith, there- 
fore, should have stopped short in his review of the earlier wars of 
Islam, and that in a poragi'aph immediately succeeding the last quo- 
tation, is a grave omission. He writes : — 

"But, of the Mohammedan conijiiest*, it would be rather tme to 
say that after the first wave of invasion had swept by, two blades of 
gra-st were fouud growing where one had grown before ; like th« 
thimderstorm, tbey fertilized while they destroyed ; and frosu|dQ 


rtlio liieu knowu world to the otlier, witli thuir religion they 

sowed ibe seeds of literature, of commerce, and of civllizutiun. As 
ibese disappeared, in the lapse of years, in one part of the Mussulman 
wHi-Ki, they appearod in another. When they died out, with the 
dyiiij; Abboside Katipbate, along the bank» of the Eupluates and 
Tigris, they revived agaia on the Guadalquiver and Guodiuna. To 
the splendour and civilization of Damascus succeeded B:igdad; to 
Bigdiul, Ciuro ; to Cairo, Cordova." 

Among the subjects discussed in the fourth Lecture are "Poly- 
gamy " and '■ Slavery," the former of which, " next to caste," is de- 
ecribcd a» "the most blighting institution to which a nation can 
become a prey. It pollutes society at tlie fountain head, for the 
fiunily is the source of all political and of all Rocial virtues. Moham- 
med woulil have doubled the debt of latitude the Eastern world 
ones to bim had he swept it away, but he could not Imve done so, 
CTCB if he had fully seen its evils. It is not fair to represent poly- 
gamy as a part of Mohammedanism, any more than it is fair to repre- 
sent slavery as a part of Christianity." 

To aifittii that Muhammad, who abolished the cherished idolatry of 
the Arahs, cunid not have abolished polygamy, is a gratuitous 
■KUmption. A more reasonable grutiud for its continued Siinction is 
afibrded by Mr. Smith himself, where he points out how Muhammad 
rducd on his own hehalf, to his indelible disgrace, but mth the 
■UegEiI express approval of Qod, the limitation-^ to the uulkounded 
Jioeose of Oriental polygamy which prevaileil at that period. And, 
eonsiiicring the laws laid down in the Kuriin regulating the number 
of wivca whom a Muslim may have at the Kime time, and the further 
unlimited concession to concubinage, the statement and parallel 
ooDtained in the last sentence of the tiuotation are, to my mind, 
equally erroneous. Much may justly be said in praise of Muhammad's 
vbMtmenta in behalf of bondsmen, whereby their former condition 
W vastly ameliorated. There is no word corresponding to that of 
"iltYts," in the moilern sense of that word, to be found in the Kuran, 
vbich generally designates such as "those whom your right hand has 
Mquired," evidently indicating captives taken iu wai- ; and the .system 
"f tie sUve trade, which until the commencement of the present 
dtDtaiT was common alike to CbriBtians and Muslims, but now con- 
lintd almost entirely to the latter, is utterly devoid of sanction iu the 
Untliin scriptures. Tlie orphan, too, and the poor, and dumb animals 
iniiude the subjecU of compassionate precepts, the due observance 
■if wliidi is ix:ckoned among the highest virtues, whilst gambling and 
tlm luc of intoxicating H^^uors are declared to be " an abominatien, 
"f tlio work of Satan," and as such to he avoided "that ye may 
pM'pet.'' Thejie moral counterparts of Christianity contained in the also the reverence with which it speaks of the Prophets and 
lliei'atit'ttiariyy«», or Apostle*, and especially of Jesu.% whose super- 


iiattiral birth, miracles, Mcssiahahip, and second appearing as "as^^ I 
of the approfwjh of tlie last hour." cannot but be regarded as so much 
common giound between the two religions — as ;i nearer approach to 
Cliristianity tban is to be met with in any other existing creed. Nor 
lioGS it militate against this view that I cannot endorse Ur. Smith's 
statement that " Mohammedanism is essentially a spiritual religion," 
simply because "as instituted by Mohammed it had 'no priest and 
no sacrifice,'" and forbids "the representation of all living things 
alike, whetlior aa objects of use or of admiration, of veneration or of 
worship." As "non-sacerdotal" Islam has an affinity to Christianity 
as contrasted with Judaism, and as "non-objective " in its prescribed 
forms of worship it is undoubtedly " less materialistic " even than our 
own ; nevertheless, these epithets which I have used to designate it 
do not imply " spirituality " in the ordinary acceptation of that word. 

Here, before proceeding further, it is important to bear in mind 
tliat Mr. Smith discusses the Islam of the Kuran, not those develop- 
ments of it which go by tJiat name at the present clay — two things so 
widely different that "Mohammed and the Koran " would have been 
0. more appropriate title for his Lectures, If Christians may fairly be 
charged with having darkened the divine teachingof the Gospel with 
human philosophy, with having encumbered the primitive form of 
Christian worship with an elaborate materialistic ceremonial, and 
with their endless internal disputes and divisions, much more may 
with equal justice be urged against the Muslims on the score of their 
departure from the canon of the Kur&n, their endless schisms on the 
subject of the Divine attributes and other dogmas, traditional inno- 
vations, and often puerile ceremonial, the outward obsei-vance of 
which is piTtctically regarded as the quintessence of their religion. 
The lecturer hints at these departures from the original Islam, where 
he says : " By studying the Koran, together with the history of 
Mohammedanism, we see with our own eyes the precise steps by 
which a religiou naturally and nccessarilydevelops into a mythology;" 
and, again, where he says of the Persians, although the remarks uxc 
more or less applicable to the Muslims at large, that they " corrupted 
its simplicity with fables and with miracles, and actually imported 
into it something of saint worehip, and something of sacerdotaUsm," 

Next, " has Islam the power of revival ! " Mr. Smith judges that it 
has ; but the late reforms in that direction in Asia Minor, and espe- 
cially among the Abkhasians and exiled Circassians who have taken 
refuge there, which he quotes from Mr, Gifford Palgrave, go hat a 
very little way indeed towards justifying the inference that the exiles 
are " forming the nucleus of a new, vigorous, and united Mohamniedui 
nation," The phenomenon of Wahh4beeism, which is also adduced, 
is more to the point in a strictly religious sense ; nevertheless, wfadn 
we reflect on the dire antagonism of the creed of 'Abclu-'l-Wahhab 
to all the prevailing forma of Islam, whose follower the Ai^^H 


reformer classes with Polytheists, there is, humanly speaking, little 
chance of its extensive propagation. It may be fairly questioned, 
indeed, whether the late movement in India, headed by the Sayyid 
Ahmad, and which went by that name, had any real affinity with the 
Wahh&beeism of Nejd. And as to the recent visits of Muslim poten- 
tates from the far East to do homage to the supposed representative 
of the Khalifah at Stambul, these may have a certain political signi- 
ficance, but augur nothing in favour of a genei'al Jihdd — " an out- 
burst of stem fanaticism, which, armed with the courage of despair, 
obliterating, as in the Circassian war, even the immemorial schism of 
Sonnee and Sheeah [?] may hurl once more the united strength of 
the Crescent upon the vanguard of advancing Christendom." Absit 

But, even if possible, is such a revival as is here contemplated, 
desirable? Mr. Smith replies : ''In the East a revived Islam contains 
more elements of hope for the future than a coiTupt Christianity.'* 
His is tantamount to saying that the existing Christians of the East 
are, as a body, inferior to the Muslims — an opinion not unfrequently 
expressed by travellers who know them least, and by others who have 
expected to find virtues, which require liberty for their growth and 
development, among a people who have for ages been subject to a 
withering despotisnrL Making due allowance for this fact, I do not 
hesitate to affirm, having had as extensive and intimate an acquaint- 
ance with Muslims and Christians in the East as most Europeans, 
and still having many valued friends among both, that the statements 
relied upon by the lecturer are a libel upon Oriental Christians, 
whose industry and enterprise, social morality and general acquire- 
ments, despite the drawbacks of their political position, are fully equal 
to, if they do not surpass, the vaunted superiority of their Muslim 
fellow-subjects. Further, on recalling to mind what Mr. Smith had 
before stated respecting the necessity of a continued use of the 
sword in order to the maintenance of Islam in its integrity, and that 
its revival means a return to the obligation to wage war on the 
infidels, I cannot but think that he has said more on this subject 
than he really meant. On the other hand, philanthropists generally 
would prefer to see the development among Muslims of the views 
which the lecturer, notwithstanding the unwisdom of the utterance 
just taken exception to, places before us in a most attractive light in 
these words : 

" Muslims may yet be brought to see that there is a distinction 

between what Mohammed said himself, and what others said for him ; 

and that there is a still broader difference between what he said as a 

legislator and a conqueror, and what he said as a simple Prophet. 

There are some among them who see now, and there will be more who 

Will soon see, that there may be an appeal to the Mohammed of 

Mecca from the Mohammed of Medina; that there may be an idolatry 





of a book, as well as of a 

I sliapele: 

, or a statue, 
stone; and that the Prophet, who always in other matters asserted 
his fallibility, was never more fallible, though certainly never more 
sincere, than when he claimed an equal infallibility for the whole 
Koran alike. Finally, with the growth of knowledge of the real 
character of our faith, Mohatumedans must recognise tliat the C%rist 
of the Gospel was something ineffably above the Christ of those 
Christians from whom alone Mohammed drew his notions of Hini ; 
that he was a perfect mirror of that one primary attribute of tlie 
Eternal, of which Molmtnmed could catch only a far-off glance, and 
which, had it been shown to him as it really was, must needs have 
taken possession of his aouL" 

Should the "Kign of yielding" which is here indicated become 
more distinct, and the ulterior results prognosticated be realised, the 
assertion of the lecturer that " Islam is a thing of indestructible 
vitality " will be inx'alidated, and it will then be seen whether there- 
is anything in Christianity to prevent its proving as great a blessing 
to the mingled peoples of Africa and the East as it has proved to the 
" higher races " of tlie West ; whether, in fine, the Gospel, which 
its Divine Author commanded should ho preached throughout the 
world, is not suited to the spiritual wants and aspirations of all moD- 
kind. Although at first sight the lecturer's views seem to conflict 
with the idea of such attempts, nevertheless he is by no means 
averse to missionary effoi-ts among Muslims. What he desires with 
devout earnestness is, that missionaries should approach them with 
Christian sympathy, imitating the ejiample of St. Paul, who dropped 
not a word of scorn against the polytheism of the Athenians, quoted 
their gre^t authors with respect, and professed only to declare to 
them more fully, that God whom, unknowingly, they already wor- 
shipped : — 

"If Christian missionaries are ever to win over Mohammedana to 
Christiauity, they must change their tactics. It will nut be by dis- 
crediting the gieat Arabian Prophet, nor by throwing doubts upon 
his mission, but by pa3'ing him that homage which is bis due, by 
pointing out, not how Mohammedanism diflfers from Christianity, but 
how it resembles it ; by dwelling less on the dogmas of Christianity 
and more on its morality ; by showing how perfectly tliat Christ, 
whom Mohammed with his half-knowledge so reverenced, came np 
to the ideal which prophets and kings desired to see, and had not 
seen, and which Mohammed himself. Prophet and King in one, could 
only half realize. In this way, and this alone, is it hkely that. 
Christianity can ever act upon Muhammedantsm : not by sweeping 
it into oblivion — for what of truth there is in it, and there is 
much truth, can never die — but by gradually, and perhaps 
seiously, breathiug into its vast and still vigorous frame 
arer, a diviner life 

r than St. ] 


reveaJeJ the truth to His disciples as 

they were able to boar it, and the course here generally recommended 

to missionaries is in perfect accordance therewith, as it is also with 

Apostolic usage. Hence few will question the wisdom of the advicu 

ih&l, in their dealings with Muslims, missionaries nhonld dwell less 

on the dogmfis. and more on the morality of Christianity. But in 

practice, as all must know who have had any ctpoiienco in the 

mutter, the first olijection raised by a Muslim will turn on the dogmas 

of the Divinityof Christ and the Trinity, and that unless some satis- 

(ietory explanation of these is given, all further attempt on the 

p&Tt of the missionary to gain a hearing will be in vain. Now, as 

lii*se dogmas are of the very essence of Christianity, what is the 

nuEsiotiar; to do 7 Reserve them, or slur them over \ To say 

airibing of the moral cowardice and faithlessness of such a course, 

there is not the least chance of its success. Evasion no les,i than 

as^ertioa will be confronted with the SAratu-'l-Ikkida : " Say, God is 

on*; Ood the Eternal ; He begetteth not, neither Js He begotten; 

nntber is there any one like Him." Mr. Smith observes that among a 

moaotheistic people the missionary invariably finds that "the doctrine 

cd" Uie Trinity, however explained, involves Trilheism, and their ears 

«re at once closed to his teaching." This is almost inevitable from 

the stereotyped formuhe in which it has mostly been presented to 

them, without any comment calculated to remove their prejudices or 

to stimulat-e further inquiry. The writer of these remarks, on the 

other hand, in friendly discussions with intelligent Muslims, has 

fre(]iiently seen the beneficial results of a different course. He has 

bepm by admitting the truth of the propositions contained in the 

SAnh above quoted ; and has then procecdetl to point out that, if 

directed against the orthodox doctrine of the Trinity, Muhammad 

must have written it under a misconception — excusable in him con- 

tddering the heresies which prevailed on that and kindred dogmas 

aioobg the Christians with whom alone he had come in contact — 

imtsmnch as the verb iviiluda (peperit, parturivit), used in the 

tcthte and passive form in tlie Surah referred to, is never in the 

Christian Scriptures applied to God or to the Divinity of Christ ; 

tliat Jesus is not styled the v;dtad (ao\in from the same root), but 

tbeifrn of God, from the etymon bdna, to build (i.q. bin from bdjid 

of tie Hebrew), and thence a Son, " because," as Arabian lexico- 

jlipberssay, "he is of the father's building, made so by God;" that 

Bl8"Wi>rd of Ood" — a title applied to Jesus hy Muhammad as well 

M^John, was not " bom " in any such sense, but " made flesh;" 

Iblthe l)i*ine Incarnation implied by that phrase is not so alien to 

ItllcD a.<> may at flrst sight appear, since it has been adopted by 

Wreral Muslim sectarians, offsprings of the great Shi'aah schism ; 

Oil thaly considering the previous revelations of the Most High 

mchaafed through Moses and the Prophets, there is nothing 


contrary to reason, and nothing derogatory to the Majesty of God, 
that He^ as the Divine Word^ should take the fashion of a man, in 
oixler to exhibit to mankind by example as well as by precept the 
perfections of the Godhead, which heretofore they knew only a» 
abstractions, and that, as a man, He should seal His testimony with 
His blood for the redemption of mankind. With regard to the Third 
Person of the Trinity, there Ls less difficulty, for although the " holy 
spirit " mentioned in the Kuran is held by Muslim commentators to 
indicate the angel Gabriel, nevertheless the true Christian dogma — 
of which Muhammad was undoubtedly ignorant, as he accused 
Christians of believing in three Gods, by which he is generally held 
to have meant God, Jesus, and the Virgin Mary — when rightly 
expounded, never evokes the same antagonism as the Incarnation, 
owing doubtless to the non-ascription of human attributes to the 
Holy Spirit. 

A similar mode of procedure — of which the foregoing is but a 
rough sketch — with regard to other divergencies between the two 
creeds will eeldom fail to arrest the attention and secure the respect 
of thoughtful Muslims, especially when prompted by that sympathy 
for what is good and true in Islam which it is Mr. Smith's object to 
evoke, and without which bare arguments will be abortive. The 
motive was a generous one, considering its bearings on the moral 
and spiritual improvement of so vast a portion of the human race^ 
including many millions of our fellow-subjects in India, and as such 
is highly commendable. I have not hesitated to point out what ha& 
appeared to me defective in his statements, and to express dissent 
from some of his deductions ; none the less, however, do I commend 
these Lectures to the attentive yet careful perusal of the student, the- 
politician, and the missionary. 

George Pebct Badqer. 


THE field of (Immutic music appears, as yet, scarcely to havi- 
been entered by tlio searcher after the principloa of art, Wiile 
the vhole domain of music has had scant attention from the 
esthetic student, the department of stage-music has been well- 
nigh altogether overlooked. In England, at least, thi' opera has 
not been of a quality to attract nmeh thoughtful ei-iticism or 
peaetrating research. Not tliat great and commanding works 
lave not been produced, but that the modes of production, detei'- 
iniiied as they have been to a large extent by the demands of 
Wionahle society for a not too ongi'oesing after-dinirer amusi.-- 
ment, have been admirably adapted to shut out from -inew tlie 
artistic nature of the subject. The jnost soothing kind of in- 
fluence to a gentle organism under these conditions of post- 
prandial repletion, was found to be afforded by the rc^eurrence of 
fsniiiiar melody with dulcet cadences and easy rhythms, when 
reaJered by a well-known favourite. Such a form of entertain- 
ment was free from the intcllcctuiil claims which mar. from a 
■"Jgienic point of view, even tho not excessively intiieate con- 
'emporary drama. At tho same time, it did not presuppose so 
™^ a degree of purely musical undei-standing as the conceit. 
Hence, perhaps, the common tendency in England to overlook 
^f dramatic side of the opera. Others, it may lie. besides the 
pWent writer, aro able to recall the unnatural, hidier<)UR aepoet 
wbich the opera first presented to fhoir minds. Tlie forced 


awkwardness of the singers' gestures, the unsuggestiveness of 
the long bravura exercises of vocal skill, the utter dissimilarity of 
the whole operation to any events in real life, can hardly fail to 
render our fashionable opera, in the eyes of a novice, as gro- 
tesque and amusing as are the laborious symbolic movements of 
a mysterious ritual to an uninitiated spectator. 

In France and in Germany the opera has not remained, as with 
us, a fragile exotic, born of the Hght moods of elegant dilettanti 
in Itahan courts. In both of these countries attempts hav:i been 
made to construct a national musical drama, employing the lan- 
guage and reflecting the dominant sentiments of its people. And, 
as a natural concomitant of this more serious conception of the 
musical drama, a certain amount of thought has been applied to 
the principles of the subject. In France, it was Gluck who did 
most to give clearness and precision to the idea of the opera.* In 
Germany, the theory of the subject has been very fully elaborated 
by another composer and practical reformer, Richard Wagner. 
The doctrine taught by this writer, and illustrated in his works, 
claims the careful attention of any one who proposes to theorise 
on the nature and function of dramatic music, and a brief review 
of it may serve as a suitable starting-point for the present 

Let it be clearly underatood that in examining Herr Wagner s 
theoiy of the opera, we do not propose to enter into another and 
wholly distinct subject — the composer s peculiar conception of music 
and its forms. The characteiistics of the new order of tone- 
structure, which claim just now so largo a representation in our 
concerts, are, for the most part, an extension of the forms of abso- 
lute music, and must be judged of by the piinciples of pure musical 
structure. AVliether the style of chord, of sequence of chord, and 
of modulation — not to speak of rhythm and orchestral co-ordina- 
tion — which one finds prevailing in Herr Wagner's compositions, 
and to which he has been in part impelled by a series of powerful 
traditions, is a real advance on the temperate regularities of the 
classical writere, is a question which -will only receive a satisfactory 
solution when our general concc*ptions of music and of art as a 
whole have become less hazy and unsteady. In so far, however, 
as the pecuUaritiesof HeiT Wagner's miisical style obviously result 
from his interpretation of the mutual relations of music and poetry, 
our estimate of them Avill, of courae, be afifected by our opinion of 
the theory on which they rest. 

Herr Wagner's disciples in England have taken good care that 
his leading ideas should not suffer the fate of so many German 

* Strictly speaking, Glack.*s speeulatioDB belong to the period of his Italian aotiviiT. 
They may be reckoned as French, inasmnoh as tbeir permanent influence showed itpalf 
most conspicuously in this country. 

■fprnflsticms, and reinaiu wholly unknown to English ivadere, 
Wa in«y prcanme. therL-loro, on a cei-tain degree of intelli- 
gwice with riiBpect to his theory of the opera, and may content 
mitselves with rct«pitiilating the moat ijnportant heads of tlie 

The opera, suys Wiignor. is the higlieat development both of 
tht- draiiiRtic a?ui the nmsical art. On the one hand, the spoken 
flmtna Buffers from ihu defeat of appealing too much to the nnder- 
itanding and too littlo to the emotional nature of the epeetntor. 
The uu'dt-ni Teutonic drama, from Shakenpeavo downwards, is, 
b lact. dramatis oil narrative, andproceeds by explaining a definite 
«rie» of notions by help of all tlie neceseary conditions of time 
Ind place. The tnu! soiiroe of dmnmtic action is not history, but 
}c||;cnd. In this, actions are elevated above the limit8 of particular 
arcuniRtaiiees, ami are presented as tv-pieal. The legend appeals 
innntdiatfly to the spectator's sympatJietic comprehension by 
tipholdiug a single thread of action detached from the many side- 
tliivads which serve to hi<!e and complicate it in real life. This 
ampli! ctmiii of events is seen to depend on one or two easily 
appwhondcd emotional qualities, and the construction of this 
poetic aud legendary kind of action is eifected by raising tliesc 
Biiitivcs to an ideal uitensity: a process which the writer de- 
M-'ribes a8 "the poetic miracle." In order that this emotional 
drama may produce its full effect, it must have recourse to music, 
which, by virhie of ite deep and powerful affinities with the primi- 
tive emotional qualities of speech, serves to interpret, in an ini- 
uiftliatrt sensinms impression, tho emotional contents of the action. 

On the other hand, just as the di-ama needs the reeourcee of 
innaiciil art. as a medium of expression, so music needs the defimte 
nisltcT of expression which the drama supplies. Absolute music- 
tint is, music separated from words — is vitiated by the radinal 
wfir of mistaking a means of expression for the thing to be 
Mpregeed. 'ITiis error becomes conscious of itself, so to speak, in 
tltf Works of Beethoven, who, after exhausting every device of 
niialrsie and rL--combi nation in the treatment of the dance-rhytiim, 
™wivertd the impossibility of coustnicting an art out of a 
•nsifriul wliosc inlinite capabilities require to be determined by 
tn>t |ireflence of a definite poetical theme.f 

AD pnivioue attempts at opera--conBtriiction have suffered, says 
i»m Wagner, from the nou-reoognition of this dependence of 
""lac oil poetry. The fundamental error of the pre- Wagnerian 

''^luirt ef tlio author'* thpory JFi tq be (□□ 
i . A rAwn^ of bit doettioa Is giren in a 

IK i-ndearonr, nnterritiod in its boldneas. t 
iiitmng -which in artiotically impnaBibla. we 
le tar Miring eronr thinkablo prahlom as si 
irUieli II ttPlttnTlT in— tho art of ax'imilton."- 

Hoh irhat is «rtieli>;*UT 



opera may bu defined by eajing "that a lutnjjs of expra 
(mufiic) -WHS made the end, wliik' tlie fud of uxpressiun (tb« 
drama) was made tiie nic-aiiB,"' The aiia, the chorus, atid iha 
orchestral part alike illustrate this fatal defect. The domiiiaut 
a'TTi of the openi waa to glorify the compoaer aud the vnoaiist 
at the expense of the poet. 

Herr Wagiiitr rt^-iews at aome length the history of the opeiu 
in Italy, France, and Gei-raany, pointing out what he conKident 
to be the ruling defect-a of the B«veml schools of coiupoKitiou. 
He is veiy hard on the hisciouH melody and ear-tickling ihytliin 
of the Italian style as perfected by Rossini. He appears to attacl) 
very little value to the reforms aimed at by (Jiuck. He sympa^ 
tliiaes, to !l considerable extent, with the ejtdcavonra of Welder 
and his followers to return fi-om the artificial aria^form to the 
nail' Voikslied from which it originally sprang. Curiously wiou^i, 
to those who have tmced the sources of the critic's own style, his 
fiercest attack ia reserved for the historical opera of Meyerbeer, 
which he characterises as decorative uiusio, and a striving after 
a merely external effect, 

Such being Herr Wagner's estimate of tJie past opem, and such 
his conception of the true function of dramatic music, let ns sue 
how he proposes to work out his theory, and to what form of 
structure his proposal has led. 

First of all, tlien, the proper subject for opera is the leg&ud or 
myth: and this condition has been carefully observed by tJie 
composer in all but one or two of liis earliest works. Secondly, 
the music of the drama must resign the pleasing forme of absolute 
music (aria form, sonata form, and so on), and content itself with 
shaping itself in the closest conformity to the eeipieuces of tbo 
poetical subject. Thns, the sharp distinctions of reoitativft and 
aria must be obhterated, and tho whole progress of the vocal 
music assimilated to the unbroken flux of tin; dmiuatio move- 
meut. The quahty of tlie melody and rhj'thm muHt be detcnuinod 
by the primitive " word-tone" of language. That is to say, Uie 
mudeal accent must coincide with the emotional accent, wliich, 
in the German langiuge, unifoi-mly falls <in the root-syllable of 
the word-t Thus the composer, insttad of adorning the 
dramatic verse with the graceful turua and movement* of a 
dauee-rhythm. must seek patiently to elicit irom the verse the 
meloe which is potentially contained in it.J 

rse the | 

t Id Uis UtcT wurks Hoir Wagacr lins xatAn aDaplo oao ol lUo urclinin <: 
nUitentioii (SraMeim), dhuih plcmciit ef TDriulluatiati adcroapoiKlB. tt tluoks, U 
of natuTnl uiLprcisiiiou. 

t It U Dii|r Inir to »dd that tlie nuthor hw numtuiuod tliat " b; tliis pt«oadiu» 

molodj and IM form an coDdncUd Co a woiltti and an iaoiJuiutibi 

from this procaiit, one itd> nlioU; unalilo ta f rama a eoDOiipIJan." — (Z 
But I havn failed to diseovcr any ollampl la proro this r.itli»r curin- 

rilK OPERA. 

•"Btefisrfy, the orchestml acccmpttuiiueiit, iiiatcatl of being uu 
iudependeiit. atriiLture, shaped according to tlie- laws of absolute 
munc. must dutifully take ita impreSB fi'om tlie poetic theme-. 
The ttrcli«*tral iuBtmment poBseSBt;^^ iv litcultj- of epeecli, and itB 
function m to mdco known the mmtterablo {d'ln Unatm- 
fltrtetdidtt.) Honoo it uliould, in tin; introductiim (whit.'h Wapifr 
vonld substitute for the elaborately-coiiBtnicteJ overture), stimii- 
bt*n certaiu vnguc foreboding {Almnng) of tlie coming action.' 
Ho, sgstn, it should seek to give preflent reality to the invieiblo 
ihoaghts and rfoollpctions which tinderlio the actors* present 
(motions. Once more, as a highly idealised dauee-rhythm — that 
is, thii coneoniitaTit of bodily movement and attitude — the insfrii- 
laental part of dramatic raneic has to supply an audible gesture 
(Otl/SfiUi), finer, moro Vftrions, (uid more impressive than the 
viable movements of tl»> actors, oon-esponding to the depth, 
inUnudtf, and infinite gi-adutiou of the dramatic sentiment. Thus 
tlie modern orchestra has the mgiiiiicancc of tlie (Jireek chorus, 
m w &r OS this served us a supplementary exponent of the cnio- 
tioaftl phases of the action. 

To sum up the leading ideas of this theon,' : the opera is 
Hiaply thu perfected drama, and lias, us its supieme fimction, to 
'Inpnct an elevated action with its productive emotional forcL«. 
ThemOKic of the upem has at all points to subserve the revelation 
uftho dramatic subject, and to shape itself in perfect obedience 
lutlw) (inotiunal changi^s of the action. Its unity of ibi-m must 
consequently be deiived, not from the laws of absolute music, but 
from till* powHo conditions of thi; drama itself, 

Finally, it should be added that the wiiter postidates as a con- 
lUfioii of tliis perfect self-devotiuii of mm^ic to poetry, in "womanly 
pBiii^-ity " and ■' rei/eptivity," the pi'odufition both of the di-aimitic 
poon and of the ninBical composition by one and the same niind. 
Only when the composer is at the same time the poet, having liis 
imndpenneated by the ideas of the drama, wili he be competent 
l" (Jicit from music its fullest capabilities of interpretation. 

fiiidi w. in bric£ Wagner's conception of the lyrical drama, and 
If impartial reader can fail to recognise its lofty character. It 
wtrayit, in many of its parts, a fine insight into the real nature 
""d capabilities both of the drama and of musical art. The em- 
pUtic reiteration of the proposition that the opera is before all 
™liifpt drama, and that its mnsical stnicture must bear a close 
fUlinu (o the dramatic intention, is worthy of all pmse, though 
i' iiHv be ijuestioued whether at least one earlier writer on the 

! [ oner •pnta to accomplish Ly menna of thn Leilmolif. or lottdinft motiv,*, 

]i:irRmoliniiiiI colonringmaf serve to bdtantc inrjistinetl; the gcneni 

..Nirraof th« pisGO. The ineroduction of a doniiiwut phrnw in tlii; over. 

'''" ii to iniMilioaof Woitner**, while his pcpoliar usw of it in fro(|urml rci'uiTnn™ 

■ U*M]r 4f Uio opMU hii \*r-a ifTj WTorrly rrilii'i'ni. 



to ^^H 

subject, Gluck, (lid nut piiSHCBS au eqiuillj' eienr apprdieiialon of 
this truth. It is prubabii: tJiat ^Vag^el■'s most iiiiportaiit eontribu- 
rion to the theory of the Ij-rical druma is eoutained in his ac-co^^^ 
of the capabilities and function of the orchtstra, in the pre 
tveatmeut of wliieh, imircovc-r, he is ackiiowk-dged to 1 

On the other hand, this thcoiy apjicarB to me to bo quite as one- 
sided and incomplete as those which it airas at controverting. 
As a rcfonner's protest against the excessive exaltation of tht> 
musical at tlie expense of the poetical in the opera, \Vaguer'a 
treatise is admirable. As a philoeophers weU-coiisidered dm'trine 
of the principleB of the opera, it must be pronounced inadequate. 

The radical defect in Wagner's theory of the opera is due to a 
non-recognition of the fact that in the union of poetry and miunc 
in the opera, the latter helps to determine the former no less eer- 
tainly than the former the latter. If mueic, when entering the 
service of dramatic poetry, muat dutifully observe the require- 
ments of her mistress, it may be added that dramatic poetry, in 
order to reap auy advantage from tlie relation, must accommodate 
her requirements to the capacities of lier servant. The author 
foils to recog^nise this consideration just because he supposes the . 
drama and tJie lyrical drama to be co-extensive — that is to say, 
because he conceives the drama in all its highest forms to bu not 
only euKceptible of a musical treatment, but even in need of it. 
This notion seems to involve a misapprehension botli of the real 
nature of the drama and of the fullest powers of modern mnsioal 
art. In order to see whether this is so. we must go back to ttj^' 
primitive psychological sources of these arts, m 
those of music. 

The nature of the drama may perhaps be lociked on oa I 
determined. It is the representation of a single chain of actioiW* 
whether grave and impreSBivc, or light ajid entertaining, fitted to 
attract and detain the spectator's attention. It appeals to the 
spectator's sympathies as the imitation of a real action — that ia, of 
a definite series of particular events. In order that the play may 
be efieetive it must be understood, and the understniiding of it is 
by no nienns a trivial intellectual operation. The tight apprehcn- 
fliou of (he chametrrs, with their complex elements of emotionul 
sensibility, habits of thought, and tendenciesof will; of thepreoiae 
nature of the surrounding circmuatances (including each pi-niou'a 
social relations) in their operation on these uharactera; of the 
intricate and prolonged series of results due to any ]>artt(»|yf 
event — all this may be r<-gard<'d lut a very rL-^pi-elahle iutelle^^^H 
Achiuvuinont. No doubt, tlie drama must appeal to the feotioj^^H 
the spectator, but it can only do this (tn nil but a few casci^^^l 
Hppeahng just us i-nergi-tically to his understanding. The ^^^^| 

THE OtEliA. 


UiABemf! tiling tie the lyiical poeiii, wliicb, with all its faucies 
and images, becoraes iattlligible so Boon as the reuiU-r ur hearer 
wizc8 and fiitcre into the central uniting sentiment: it is a group 
lif pveuts. externa! and interna!, united not by the artiBt'e poetic 
fcehng. but by tlie laws of actual life. Hence it needs the imder- 
fitaiiditig no less than the emotaons as its interpreter. 

On the other hiind. music, pure and simple, hsie no very palimble 
relation to the events of Hfe. It seems to derive its materials 
from no department of natural phenomena, but to shape its new 
Inne-elenients in perfect artistic freedom, seeking only that beauty 
"f order wliich may best dehght the ear. In truth, however, these 
tone fabrics iiave a deep significance. They form a subtle and 
potent hmguage for human feulinge, describing tlicir most essential 
characters in grateful K^TubolB, Music alone does not disclose any 
definite individual seutmieiit: it reveals rather tlie broad relations 
(if a feeling, its deepest ri'semblances and contrasts. Thus the 
addition of muidc to a definite aentiniont, as in lyric poetiy, may 
liw rvgurded botli as a more emphatic utterance of the essential 
i|Ualities of the aentuuent, and as an artistic apotheosis of tlic feeling 
!>y clothing it in a brautiftil artistic VL-stiture. A passion poured 
'int iu the well-ordered cadeneoe of a modem vocal melody ceases 
t" rcsemlile a familiar daily event, and becomes partially trans- 
formed into an utterance from the beautiful unknown world of 
poetic fancy. 

Such being, roughly defined, the characteristics of the drama 
fli»l uiiisic, let us inquire wliat points of contact — or at least of 
mntna.1 approach — appear to present themselves to the two arta. 

Iu the first place, the drama may be regarded as the resiUt of 
thf impulse of a powci-ful feehng to realise in immediate imprcR- 
BOu the objects and events which stimulate and sustain it. When 
}MiwcrfuI!y aflected by tlio thought of a beautiful or unposing 
object, the mind desires to sue it. In tliis way, the lyrical outpouv- 
iiigof a feeKug uatumlly passes into the dramatic revival of the 
fi^eKug. We may see this process illustrated in the growth both 
ef the Greek and of the modern drama, Greek tragedy arose 
\gndiially out of the Bacehic song and dance, as the worshippers 
'"I the want of a new perception of the divine glories, which 
iptiou was first given them through a recited naiTative, tlien 
la visible imitation of tlie stirring action, Similarly the 
fcon-play of the middle ages, which was the first fonn of the 
Tem dratua, seems to have spnuig from the desire of pious 
(.when chantingthepiTuses of the suffering Son and Mother, 
Oleize the reality of the remote events in some immediate objec- 
tive impression. If the drama may thus be viewed as the direct 
ition of Bynipathetic and lyrical emotion, its relation to music 
^dent. According to this view, the first function of music in 


its union with the drama is to give expression not to the feelings 
of the draniatis personcp^ but to those of the spectators. It aims at 
shadowing forth the dominant sentiment or mood of the drama ; 
the emotional condition of mind which remains as the final and 
least evanescent result of the dramatic impression, such as awe 
before the mysterious, pity at the spectacle of hiunan error and 
woe, or amusement at the sight of men's harmless defects. 

It is obvious, from thie definition of the function of diumatic 
music, that the more intense and distinctly marked the emotional 
eftect of a drama, the more easily does it lend itself to musical 
treatment. Plays which appeal less to the deeper emotions of 
s\Tnpathy, and ititerest us rather as developments of human 
character, are but little susceptible of this accompaniment.* 
Such dramas are most successful when they dispense with musical 
accompaniment altogether, or content themselves with roughly 
indicating their most prominent emotional aspects in instru- 
mental introduction or entr arte. Sometimes a play may gra- 
diially approach a point at which the deep and potent feelings 
of the spectator seem to ask for the vicarious expression of 
music, and in this case the introduction of musical stmins has a 
peculiarly fine effect.t On the other hand, when a drama resorts 
to a continuous musical accompaniment, it needs to be of a deeply 
uffecHng character throughout. 

It will be obvious to the reader that the function of dmmatic 
music just considered is not its only one. The drama first resorts 
to music as an interpreter of its emotional effc'ct in the spectator s 
mind ; after this, it seeks from music its aid in intei-preting the 
emotions of the dmmatic pei*sons. When it does this, music 
passes over from the subjective side of the spectator's mind to 
the objective side of the spectacle itself, and enters as an integral 
element into the work of art. The basis of- this further union 
between drama and music is the same as before. Music is an 
artistic form for expressing deep and intense emotions. Hence, 
in so far as the action is emotional, springing directly out of 
powerful pulsations of feeUng, and involving but Uttle of the 
quieter intellectual and volitional processes of the mind, it is 
fitted to assume a musical garb. Here again we may find several 
degrees of susceptibiUty of musical treatment answering to 
A'arious grades of emotional force in the action and its situations. 
In many eases the course of the stoiy may pass from a region of 
comparative emotional indifference to one of great emotional 
agitation ; and when this happens, the cold medium of speech 

* It would bo easy, prohnbl j, to point out illustrations of this limitation in some recent 
operatic productions. 

t Tho introduction of music at the closer of Goethe*8 Erpnont is a happy example of this 
iftrt. " * • 



My lip pxcbnQgfft ibv that of Rong.' It is nuly wlten tlu'tv 
un- ixiM-erfiil qnilL'r-ourreiits of fi-oliiig mniiliig tlu'oughout an 
action, wlieij pach iit-w- developmont is closely rt^lated to Iinlf- 
liiitJi'ii imtsBtiuns nl' emotion wWch require to be appreciated by 
.1 qirick aytupatlij-. that a dmma derives a considerable ad^■atltago 
fnjiii « complete uiiiHical si.-ttiiig. 

Under both theae aspects, then, tho relation of tiiumc to the 
dramu 18 based on the exjiressinn of fi^eliiig. Music, when wedded 
til tlte dmnia. is significant in so far as it helps to give utteranco 
<:ithcr to the feeling awakened in the spectator's mind, or to the 
Cfiiiotions represented on the stage. In tlie main, thcBo two fnnc- 
tioiis ore fulfilled simnltaiieonsly, since the spectator's feeling is 
iu most i?ases a sympathetic echo of some witnessed emotion. 
Hence ^ve need not further consider them apart, bnt may employ 
flie phrase "the tiiiotioaal character" of a piece or a situation 
in(iifferontly, either for the feeling displayed in the play, for the 
fe«liug oecasioiied in the epectator'a mind, or, finally, for both of 

Let iifl now hiquire a little tnore closely into the iiatiii-e of the 
dramatic feelings which an? best fitted to receive mneieal expres- 

First of all. then, music being a supplementary means of 
eipreesion addi-d by art to the natural expression of the voice, it 
tJinnld bo imiled oidy to foelings of unwonted depth and force. 
Mimic steps in wh^'ii language fails, at momenta when feeling 
» too large for utterance. Just as in ordinary life we cease, 
at nioiiieiits of the iiitensest feeling, to employ di-finito articu- 
btt; speech, and lapse into inter) ectiona! cries, so the dramatiKt 
rails ill the aid of innsic when the emotions he would portray 
^y expression by the ordinary hiBtniment«, It is the nire 
tlimax of emntion, the invasion of the spirit by a grief which 
rd^iKsto pnss outwards by the narrow chaimela of words, or its 
tleration by a delight wliieh seems too pure and precious to be 
ilweribfd in everr-day symlrols, which makes the accents of 
nniiic Welcome, .^ccor^lingly the opera shoidd seek its poetic 

1 in some rare and profoundly impressive manifestation of 
feeling, and not in the familiar emotional phases of 

jr human life. This condition of rarity in the subject of 
!ol drama, serves, it is e\-ident, to remove this form of 

rt the category of the realistic to that of the ideolistio. 

mdly, since musical expression is essentially indefhiite 

rpic^ it« addition to dmmatic sentiment tends to give 
I sentimunt a certain largeness of aspect, freeing it fmni 

rrWafner anoms to be ■ tittlo unroaMDitbl; liinl k^iusC Urn mUtnreoF thn 
~A VaJt fVag, 1b tlm dramtL. Tbo [ami of melodmnii, or TBtidcrtUa, ua; not hi 
■I Wthth: tano, nni) jft it mity hxTU n rul*tivo raltio as the ina^lv of EtrnL-tiiru 


those peculiarities wliich make up its individual cliaracter, and 
tmnsforming it into a vaguely circumscribed representative of 
Imman feeling in general, under certain of its aspects. In listen- 
ing to an opera, the hearer is less concerned, than when listening 
to a spoken drama, to apprehend all tlie individual aspects and 
conditions of the characters and sentiments represented. The 
range of emotional suggestion which characterises music has the 
effect of transfonning the lyrical expression of a definite feeling 
into the symboUc representation of a whole order of emotion. 
The expression of a certain variety of feeling in an opera, whether 
it be the fond childish love of Zerlina,the tenacious wifely affection 
of FideUa, or the quick, fierce motherly passion of Norma, is apt 
to present itself as the manifestation of this kind of emotion, 
pure and detached from individual surroundings. It is as though 
the emotion had acquired a distinct substantive existence, and pre- 
sented itself in a concrete personification. 

It is not meant by this that music obKterates the characteristic 
differences of the dramatis pei^sonce ; on the contrary, by helping to 
render prominent the dominant emotional qualities of a particular 
character,* it directly subserves dramatic characterization.t Only 
this characterization is of necessity less individual than that of 
the spoken drama. However carefully music seeks to reproduce 
the complexity of an individual character, its final image will 
always preserve sometliing of this typical nature. In this way, 
then, the action of the musical drama ^\^ll become still further 
removed from the particular events of every-day life, and will 
assiune a yet more ideal character. 

The effects of music on the drama just considered arise from 
the peculiarities of music as a mediimi of emotional expression. 
We may now consider other effects which are due to the intrinsic 
quaUties of the tone-art. 

The first of these consequences flows from the nature of tone- 
stimiilation. j^Iusic consists of a series of pleasurable sensationB 
agreeably combined. Through the large amount of sensuous 
pleasure which it yields, it lifts the mind out of its ordinary 
condition of quiet inilifference into one of general excitability. 
Apart from any of its emotional suggestions, music stirs the spirit 
of a listener merely as a mode of sensuous delight. One prin- 
cipal result of this agitation will be the intensified action of the 
imagination. The mind will seek to anticipate the actual order 
of events as kno\vni to perception, and to fashion realities for 
itself free from all the Hmitations of actuaUty. Hence that 

* By *^ emotional ** is here meant not only feeling proper, but also the moral aspects of 
thooght and Tolition, as calm or torbaknt, fitfnl or constant. 

t This resnh of music is well illustrated in the works of Qlnck. In a ralnable irork 
entitled Ghtrk ^nd die Oper^ Dr. Marx calls attention more than once to Glack's akill 
in hitting off in musical language the characteristic qualities of his charactera. 



n«3^^^ tS grnsp titrforehaiid, in clim forebudiiip, and to accept^ 
ffhenpnwenteAa '*pootic miracle" as Wagnor Btyloe it— thiitiB,tli6 
TODBlnictipn of b dramatic action in freedom from tlie strict limits 
nf time and place, Miisic eoems to dnijj tiio vigilant L'ritical 
pjwcw. and to roiiBc to nnwonted activity imag;iiiation and 
iincT. Accordingly the introduction of the fanojful and the 
myt.Mral into the lyrical drama, bo far fiom displcaeing. Becms 
eminently fitting and lesthetieally right." 

But tliin is only one part of the iufluenee of musical pleaenro. 
The delight which flows frum melody and harmony not only 
uuites the fancy, but excites it in a particular manner. Delight 
lH<ge4« images of delight ; and the enjoyment of musical Ix^auty 
[iR^fiposeH the liatener to expect new revelationa of the beautiful. 
Hen^e tlie musical drama is ranch more restricted than the spoken 
ilranii in thf use of chaiactcrs and emotions of a repulsive kind, 
and hat* to employ, as far as poBsihle, those vimeties which have 
» tcrtaiu visible grace and majesty. Although music has a con- 
ndttnble power of snggesthig other and less pleasing aspects of 
human natm-e, such as the terrible and the weird, its quality aa a 
mode of senauous beauty imposes a certain limit to ita oxpresBiou. 
The law of harmony, which is at the basis of all the best ai-t, 
fBjniK^thut the sentinientB and actions which are to be clothed in a 
l"-atttiful sensuous drapery, should themselvefl be beautiful. Hence 
"H'li difiturbiiig emotions as anger, hatred, and fear, should asstime 
ao'Ttain majefitj", and the throes of pain sink into something like 
n clnisti-ned grief, before they are admitted to be prominent 
luittivcB of the lyrical dama. One may say that the opera should, 
m^e main, seek to represent orilerlt/ emntinuB — that is to say, 
Mngs -which flow on evenly in a steady and comparatively 
Wilimkni rhythm. Hence its function differs in a measure from 
ftal of tragedy (as understood by the modern world), wliich 
liwewttirily proceeds by means of emotional conflict.t 

Hwetrj-to gather up tJie separate threads of the foregoing 
s^nmtnt we shall find that they all conduct to one and the t^iime 
wndumou. Music, it has been said, being an added artistic^ 
■Bi'^ni of expression, requires for its snbject-matter some rare 
■nimfeitktion of emotion. Again, since nmsioal expression is in 
ih(*tBretypicalorgenerio,iirequiresin the emotion to be aKpnewd 

'i was nplcil on by compoBors bpforo Wagner. Wuber, H«r»('lin(ir. »nil 
iiiontion ScliulDSiu) iUid MQoJplseoliD — nppeur lo hnva frit ll:.' !.i«tci(J 
TumiMic and fanluatic (or operalio treatment. Bat, bo inr in I iioi 
-! i.j|.|i|ii-il ;ui >de()D>I« rosBon. forlliie prnrticc. 

. ij» aiuBtrntionii of tlia vioUnPo dona to tlio ii[WPtjitor'« 
' Ihe piintul and repnisivo in llio opora. To giTi- but onu 
I niiiodic oQtbraak of Ortrud'ti envy and bnts in tliD ipcood 
" Ijrusent writer to be n sigDBl i-xompla of the unmuNcI in 

... ., i 1 11^ ui nude hv GJuck in the trontnipnl of etwaio Btor.v »how, 

"IfrJU-T. Tbsirrts, u l.uu (oaliug for'tJio difFerenees between liio oporntic o" 1 Ih" 



a certain breadth and universality. Once more, owing to ita t^n- 
ractc-mtiu uiHueuce on the imagination, mueic renders necessary a 
certain degree of fancifulnesa and ideality in the actions and feel- 
ings to be illustrated. Finally, since it is itself a variety of the beau- 
tiful, it demands a corresponding degree of beauty in tiie poetic 
matcriaL Thus we are led by each route to the conclusion that 
the iniiBical drama is a certain narrow branch of the drama, and 
is dlBtingnished from the larger division of the spoken drama by 
its special degret! of ideality or remoteness from the particular 
evoiits of our daily experience. 

We liave thus far been considering the conditions imposed by 
music on the general character of the poetic subject in the 
miisie^il drama. We may now pass to the inquiry* — How far the 
requirementB of muMc serve to determine tJie arrangement of 
parts and the artistic form of the drama? What, it may be asked, 
are the rights of music, in respect to fomi and structure, when it 
enters into imion with dramatic poetry ? 

The art of nmstc pursues aims and conforms to conditiona of 
its own. The attempt of Wagner* to deny all iiidepeudeat 
aesthetic value to music, apart from poetry, must be regarded as 
the weakest part of his theory. The very simplest type of melody 
is doteimined by conditions wliicli He wholly beyond the provinea 
of poetry — namely, the laws of tone, and its combinations, Herr 
Wagner's idea of eliciting from poetry the primitive melody that 
slumbers in it, is, no doubt, a very pretty fancy, but is, when in- 
teipreted literally, an absurdity. No natural languago of tbe 
emotions, whatever may be its analogies to miisic ; no primitiTO 
type of speecli, however poetic, affords an adequate basis of 
toiinlitj'— wliich is a condition of the new dramatic nielos, no 
less tliftu of all previous varieties of melody. However appro- 
priate musical form may be to poetic mateiial, it is in no sease 
the product of tins material, but grew up as an independent mode 
of art. ^Vbat is time of the conditions of the simplest ntnsical 
forms, is true of the conditions of the most complex. They are 
imposed by the laws of tone-impression itself^ considered as au 
element of a discerning and comparing consciousness, and have no 
immediate connection 'withtlie requirements of poetic expreasioD. 

Nothing is more curious in Wagners theory of music than 
his total inability to recognise the laws which determine the 
growth of instnimental music. The conception that the separate 
development of instrumental music was necessary as a temporary 
process, in order that when it had proved its utmost capacities 
in this isolation it might dutifully and penitently return to the 

" Oao i» glad (0 we lh»t bU Iho comjwser'fl diaciplu do not endww hla tL 
■pMtiiig ths Tmliw of iiutra[Di<ntBl maeie. Dr. Hueffar, in Ui IntoiMting i 

lliclisrJ WaguoT, ft]>;ipiTi 1> f','c'. "J! ii crti'^b of tho eoBiroipri '^-oB'i. 



wmce of poetry, seonie to me aljout as grotoaqiie an idea of art 
developmeiit as one can find, even among tlic wiilings of German 
nthfttioiauB. Wliatever value absolute muBic has attaiued, is 
ntmonslj" due to the existence of definite musical laws of pleasure. 
Tie eudlees combinatioas of modem music, the sequences of time 
and key, of movement and counter-movement, which oompose th» 
highcxt varieties of tone-structure, were not, and could not have 
fieen, suggested by poetry, hut followed from tlie laws of pleaanr- 
bUc Impn^aaion in the domain of ton&-8eneations. It was tlie 
«gue anticipation of this pleasurable efieet which first suggested 
the eevpml elements of classical form, aud it is the full realisation 
nf this effect which secures to these forms their permanent in- 
tiioac value. If it was worth wltile inventing the forms of abso- 
Inte mosic for their o\vii sake, it is surely worth while retaining 
them for their own sake.'* 

We may assume, then, that music, when it voluutjirily unites 
itwlf to the drama, lias a share in dotcrmining the form of the 
whole. Without seeldiig to fix the precise amount of this uffect, 
ire may suggest one or two of its principal elemeuts. 

First of all, it may be said tliat the highest mode of uniting musio 
toadnuua is, asHerr Wagner maintains, that of uniting it through- 
•ilit f accordingly, the whole of the dramatic poem should, as far 
u possible, possess a certain elevated emotional character. 
Fttrtiher, since musical structure always involves a certain degree 
of aiiit}- of emotional character, it follows that the drama should 
I'd characterised by a high degree of unity of sentiment. The 
mom complete the hannony of the parts of a drama in their 
miDtioital effects on the mind, the better, cclerts paribus, is the 
dnina fitted for musical treatment. Hence we find that the best 
lyrical dramas are always marked by some ruhug sentiment or 
leading emofiunal idea, which 8er\'c8 as a basis of a double unity 
— ftietio and musical. At the same time, musical foiin requires 
IHctnrcsquc vaiiety as much as organic unity, and, accordingly, 
ths drama, which seeks to be lyrical, must present numerous con- 
tiiEta of situation, such as arc fitted to draw out different orderH 
<^ musical capability. Skilfully to combine a few well-marked 

* It It wcrth obit-rviDg tlut Waguor. tthite attcoipting to ihow tho iusiioijiiBry a! 

iMnmmiUl Dmslri. rcBlly concodnH to it tha tbIho it olnime. A striking iUastrntion 

"' tbl, liiciiia^TniliF ia to ha fouoil in a paauga of ttu latter already referred to, vliioh 

. iiTiiH quoting: "Hure," (in the opBninK period of Boethovon'a bjto- 

;rui proporiUnco-melody.diMeetoci into ileimallestingreiUonla, each of 

M'liuft ei oal; two tooe*, Rppnars intoroiting and eipresaiTS now 

j.'Qt rbTthma, natt thrangh its prominent buTinoiiio sigaEQauice, Thsao 

'■Lvaa again to evar-now ffroafa {GUrdrmttffea), now loUccting in aeon- 

Liii-like,nqw acattaring themBelioa as <n a «birIpaot,Hlnai/a faaclnBtillK 

< 'men t that the llatener Gannot lor a moment withdraw bimaelf from 

. i'lit. Btimnlated to the highest interoat, is compelled to attribute to 

lone, and GTcm to eTsry rhythmic pauae a niriodic meaning, Tho 

"i-'-uT ni'iv r^iutt of this prooBSB-waa the extension of melody, through the richest 

'li'TibjunuC oi all Ha motirea, to a largo laiting piece of maaic, which was nothing elan 

■boa mgia cbacljr (onncetod melody." — {ZKhiaflsmiwik,-^. i'i.) 


dramatic contrasts in a total unity, so as to provide ample scope 
to tlie composer for pleasing and eflFective co-ordinations of 
musical phrase and mood^ is an art attainable by a few only. 

Passing now to the detailed parts of the musical drama, we 
observe, first of all, that the addition of music to a dramatic 
subject necessitates a nmnber of definitely lyrical situations, in 
which feeling may express itself freely and exhaustively. Such 
moments must stand in marked contrast to the moments of 
the progressive action. I quite concur with Herr Otto Jahn, who 
maintains, in opposition to Herr Wagner, that the lyrical drama 
must not be a perpetual flux; but must contcdn points of repose. 
** It is," he says, " according to nature, not only that single 
feelings should be suggested by leaps (sprungtceise)^ but also 
that tliis perpetually renewed partial tension ^ould be followed 
by a complete intensive satisfaction — a pouring out of the 
excited feeling, which must necessarily spread itself out.*** It 
is this law of our emotional nature which forms the basis of the 
prolonged aria form, against which Herr Wagner is never weary 
of directing his attack. The aria is a complete and rounded 
vocal form, which ofiers ample scope for a rich, various, yet 
united melodic structure. It is obvious that there is no room for 
this musical form amid the rapid progressive movements of a 
dramatic action ; but it constitutes a fit and beautiful mould for a 
pure emotion when raised above a certain intensity, and needing, 
as Herr Jahn remarks, a lengthy and satisfying utterance. It 
may be safely asserted that an opera which is replete with 
beautiful airs, appropriately united to the drama, will always be 
esteemed superior to one which lacks these elements.! 

A similar line of remark applies to the harmonic forms of the 
chorus. Whether we regard the funcrion of the dramatic chorus 
as that of co-actors who enter into the action itself and preserve 
their indi\'idual characters (as Wagner maintains), or as that of 
impartial sympatheric onlookers (as illustrated in the Greek 
choms), or finally as both one and the other — which seems quite 
as reasonable an idea as the others — the condition of choral 
song is a e\Tnpathetie mass of feeling in a number of minds. 
Hence the action should ofier frequent situarions which appeal to 
the emorions of masses — ^tliat is, the comparatively simple and 
universal feelings of human nature. It is evident that this con- 

* Gtmunmelte Aw/fdtze uber Musil\^. 144. Herr jAhn*a critiques on TamhSmaer vad 
Lahnt^n should be ivad bv all '«v'ho are desirous of forming an impartial judgment on 
the merits of the new German opora. 

t It is rather odd that Horr Warmer finds it a positive demerit in an (^wratie melodT 
that the audience aro likolv to find it singable and so to carrr it home with them. It 
does not follow that )vx*ause tbero are many poor airs^ which, thanks to a eatoliiiig 
rhjthnu aro apt to haunt ono's musical memory, no worthy melody is thne mtainahlft 
There is a pleasurable half-rolnntary retention oi a melody and a'painfal inTolttntey 
snrriTal of it^ No composer can afford to ignore the fcyrmer, though lie mmf be fidly 
justified in aroiding the latter. 



fflfloh "WiD Ije Batisfied whenever the primary fecliiigs of the 
ilranaa are of the typical character ab-eady described. The mani- 
fsetation in a beautiful form of a broad and elevated hiimau 
sentiment, auch as quiet resignation to an inevitable woe, or pure, 
defntvd love, will always appeal to sympathetic bystanders. 

Oiice more, the claims of iqubIc in the lyrical drama are seen in 
lie d«nun(ls of the orchestra for moments and circnnistaiioes in 
vhich il: can display its clmi-actemtic powers. As a mere support to 
vocal melody the orclicstra is limited.' The full beauty of instru- 
mental music calls for undi\'idi'd attention, and sliould reveal 
itoclf when the action is tiletiL How fine are the opportunities 
aflbrded to the composei- by tlie moments when bodily movement 
and gesture take the place of speech 1 When the mind of the 
actor IB cast in on itsulf in solitary thought, or eye meets eye 
with an inteneity of hope or despair which enthrals speech, the 
arDbeetra may eeeb, by means of its rich and varied oolouriug 
aod ita subtle imitations of vocal tone, to give a beautiful, if a 
ngoe, expression to the inaudible movements of the soul. It is 
po«eible that a much freer use of this function of orchestral 
innciic might yet be made, and that scope might be afforded not 
vnly before and between the acts, but in the very midst of a 
soene, for i,*omplcte orchestral movements in strict relation to a 
series of feolingB.t 

One otlier point in the effect of music on the structure of the 
drama iiaeda lo be considered — namely, the verba! form which it 
wrvts to impress. This is obviously a metric foiin, as being one 
wliich best hannonises in its dignity and beauty with the musical 
vpBtiire, and ut the same time one wliich most easily lends itself to 
mnncal treatment. If prose is often the best medium for a 
apokeu drama which closely imitates the incidents of real life, 
vewe appears to be the medium required by the elevated and 
ideal Hiibject of the lyrical drama. And, further, the regular and 
nymmetrieal structure of the verse, clearly supplies the most 
fitting verbal mould into wliich a well-ordered melody can pour 

mu influence of music on the verbal form will show itself, too, 
B those parts of the drama wliich are least lyrical. In the 
Mttorical parts of the dialogue where the musical ac- 
"nieiit is unobtnisive and restricted — namely, in the recita- 

ikiog of UuB limit fre^nonU; laiiia to OTorlaaiiing tbs Tocal pnrt njth 

~' ~ Mocsn in tbo niitnrKl reanlt ol tbu rapid progcoau moilo 

inatrliments, luiil lun; be {iiuiid io tlm Trorks ot tbe baat 



■u for nreliPBlrnl cloborotion baa bepii aomc pnf!enut 
.1" atjlo or naMe. It ia uurions ttu>t WnKDor. "'lie »e«\ 
I )>y torminf; it " doeoraWvo mualc," ispnitifluliirij atrong ; 
iiiilunaB lor prolaugnd wumia oflecia, aaoh u one ilnila iutl 
.nri iisiiTijIilin/* o! Taiinhmir.r KniLoliaujrin. Bdoinato iodicnta s triiu in»(iB 
for lb (MrrsQiwa bvtivoDii tlio ojKrat j<! ddcI the aiopl; dramatic 


tive — ^tlie language should not be destitute of a certain poetic 
beauty, and should be ordered in a pleasing rhytlun. The canon 
laid down above, that the lyrical drama should be emotional 
throughout, requires that even the dialogue should possess a 
certain warmth of colouring — should betray, that is, an intensity 
of beUef, an earnestness of purpose, which, though not strictly 
speaking emotional, is very closely related to feeling proper. 
And the presence of this attribute, which raises the dialogue of 
the opera above the discourse of common life, justifies a certain 
measure of rhjrthmic, if not metric, regularity of form. When the 
language is of this form, its investiture by music becomes more 
easy and natural. The fairly regular distribution of the poetic 
accent, and the partial di\^8ion of the discourse into balanced 
measures, allow of the addition of something like a melodic form, 
though of one less perfect than that which answers to a finished 
verse-structure. It follows from what has been said above, that 
the more musical every part of the lyrical drama can be made 
(consistently with the preservation of its dramatic force), the 
liigher, in an aesthetic point of view, will be the value of the 
whole work.* 

There are other aspects of the influence of music on the 
structure of the drama, which, since they are of less importance, 
or, on the other hand, are sufficiently ob\'iou8 to one who accepts 
the general conception of the opera here adopted, do not call for 
special discussion. As examples, I may name the need of a 
certain lyrical type of character — that is, of a nature highly emo- 
tional, and instinctively demonstrative in the utterances of its 
feelings, the desirabihty of a higli measure of picturesqueness in 
scenery, dress, and gesture, so that the visible spectacle may 
harmonise in its beauty with the audible impression. Other 
effects of a similar kind may probably suggest themselves to the 
thoughtful reader. 

We have dwelt thus at length and in detail on the influence of 
the musical on the poetical side of the drama, rather tlian on the 
reciprocal influence, because the foraier seems to have been greatly 
overlooked by writers on the subject, though it is probably quite 
as important as the other. It is necessary, however, in order to 
give something like an adequate account of the musical drama^ 
to recognise the fact that there is this reciprocal action, and that 
it is of considerable extent. The opera is dramatic before it 
becomes musical. A dramatic action can effect a good result 
without the aid of musical accompaniment : a series of musical 
pieces, vocal and instrumental, such as are required by the opera, 

* Tho history of th^ recitative, from its first meagre forms as rea'lativo secco in the 
hinds of tho early Italian composers, to its rich development in the hands of Wagner, 
illnstrates a growing perception of the essentially ;>oe^ic character of the open fii all 
its parts. 

THE vriciiA. 


I unmtelligilili;, apart from tlie dramatic interpretation. 
Tbie is bo obvious, and lias been so frequently insisted on by 
wiilerfl, from Gtuok downwards, tliat we scarcely need to enforce 
it by Icngtby argument. 

We msy, perliaps, briefly eiun up the influence of the laws of 
the dimma on the character of dramatic music in the following 
jiropoadtions : — 

(1.) The drama being, even in ite most lyrical varieties, the 
m&iiifeMatiuu of a human, oi- quasi-human action, which, inaBniiicb 
u it consiets of numerous mental processee, and of a complex 
leries of rt-Kults, must always make certain demands on the 
viraal perception and the understanding of tlie spectator, is cx- 
poied to the danger of being hidden by music, as by a veil, instead 
(if being interpn-ted by it as by a new voice. K the composer 
Ditrely seeks to cUaplay all the possibilities of music, all the 
i-spabilitics of the singer and the instrumentalist, witiiout any 
reference to the subject-matter of the drama, the whole efl'ect will 
be discordant and inartistic. Music, while asserting her o^vn in- 
aliniablv right to be beautiful, must select that order of beauty 
which best befits the poetic subject. The musical accompaniment 
«liDuId be, not a mere adventitious adornment to the drama, but a 
btautifaUy fitting robe, which, instead of liiding, indirectly reveals 
thefwiQ it encloses. That is to say, the composer, while seeking 
1* givfl proper heed to the inherent laws of musical form, must 
"bserve at the same tijne the emotional and poetic relations of his 

(i.) Evtry drama involves processes and events which arc but 
BttW emotional, coinpamtively quiet trains of thought, deliberate 
iJecntions of plans, and so on ; and in relation to these paits 
miMc has to exercise a special amount of self-restraint. A qntet 
pUBage of a dialogue is simply spoilt by being translated into an 
tUboiuto melodic c-xproBsiou, and a comparatively ordinaiy action, 
"luch may be a necesearj- Unk in tlie development of the plot, 
lieoomee ridiculous when accompanied by an exquisitely beautiful 
orcbeetml movement. In other words, a lyrical drama is never 
'''laally musical throughout, and the composer must observe the 
moments and sitTmtions which call for on unobtrusive musical 
(3.) Even in moments of the most intense and the most elevated 

' TUi pricDiplB muiifflBlly BiclodeB from tlio opera tlie more clnbonitP (onns o( 

""fe »hliih Bppaal to the undorB landing rstliar tlian to Vat> emotion ot lli" lioaror. 

^ "ilniLui.- (wnwptiijn o( tha relulioos of a fugue, for eiainplt, ir only possihlo wbon 

^"iTcided. Thi>ao Uw* of structure, morcovor, LitTO no floae oomiacUai) 

' I iids of mu«jc. 

''ivionB tliAt tfiD miuic^ Ac^ouipaDimeiit muKt retire from uotico whan 
■.■ of intTioaoy whiob cilU (or the Bpiictalor'a conPontnliHl att^alion, 

-....i.ML bj inlorpreti-'d bj mnBira] lan^uago. Ynl, aa we have obsurvo !, auch 

(l.iu il-tidJ, u fur >9 possihlo. be aroided in the lyrical drumn. 


emotional cxpressiou, music has to observe certcLm obfious limits. 
The feeling wliich calls for a full and complete utterance is still 
an element of a dramatic action, and^ has bounds set to it by this 
circumstance. If we loiter too long in the indulgence of a certain 
ti-ain of emotion, and wholly give ourselves up to a dominant mood, 
we are likely to let sUp the dramatic thread, and to lose interest 
in the evolution of the story. The composer is under peculiar 
temptation to expand unduly these lyrical efiusions, since his aYt 
is never m^ore successful than when it has to inteipret a single 
emotional mood. The utterance of a powerful and pent-up, feel- . 
iiig in appropriate melody, though a necessary feature of the 
lyrical drama, must always be characterised by a certain modera- 
tion. It must present itself as a natural and temporary pause in 
the progress of the action — not as an inten*uption of it. This 
truth was clearly perceived by Gluck, who sought to shorten the 
aria structure, and to banish from the opei-a, once and for all, the 
bmvura figures with which the earHer aria was accustomed to 
udorn itself in the interests of the singer, who was chiefly bent on 
astoxmding liis audience by fea.t8 of vocalisation. Gluck's own 
arie are models of the form most appropriate to the dramatico- 
lyrical order of sentiment.* 

From all the foregoing considerations we are led to the con- 
clusion that the relation of music and poetry in the lyrical drama 
is not, as the Wagnerites say, one of servant and lord, but one of 
felloAv-servants to a common lord. The highest aim of the musi- 
cal drama is realised when both poetry and music co-operate in 
producing a large and harmonious whole. In order that it may 
be large, each must have as free a scope as possible for the em- 
ployment of its own peculiar agencies. In order that it may be 
liarmonious, each must limit itself in mutual concession. That is 
to say, each must seek to observe what the other reqi^ires as its 
appropriate function, and learn to I'egulate its own activity in 
harmonious relation to tliis function. Poetry must content its0lf 
with being musical, and music wdth being poetic, and iiitthis 
manner the two will combine to produce something which lis 
neither poetry nor music, but a product of both. 

AVe say that our lino of discussion has led us to this ccmclusion, 
and yet we must confess tliat tliis theory has been quite as much 
the assumption as tlie conclusion of our reasonings. The doc- 
trine that in the opera music is wholly subordinate to the poetic 
subject caimot bo refuted by a demonstrative chain of reasoning. 
The highest function of any form of art is that which produces 

" It may bo worth adding that tho bravura flight is not nnivergally bad art, ns some 
of the moBt deliciouH ario of Mozart sufficiently testify. Tho temporary lingering on a 
Aingle word, and even on a single syllablOf may bo highly natural when the associations 
of tho word or tho emotional colouring of tho syllabic sound gives it a peculiar prociooa- 
noss to the 8ingor*8 mind at the time. 


'^IP^TgeBfr amount ol' leBntd (ind enduring plL-aeure to a 
I'nhh'ated miiiil. It is. of course, pci-missiblo to aay that a drama 
vhieh 18 wholly free to piirKiie it own aims, and to employ music 
fuaply as an auxiliary, will rieid a purer and larger delight tlian 
i-ne which Has to hmit iteclt' according to the extrani'nns rL^quiro- 
niente of mnsieal art. All that one can urge by way of argument 
ngainst this theory in as follows: — (l.)Muflic,^vit,h its present wealth 
mi complexity of structure, requires a certain anionvit of libeity 
t« follow ont its own laws; and to tiu down the art to a rigid con- 
fomufrf to the poetic theme, supposing this to be possible, is 
utmottnly tn mi*a a large part of the eftect of musical art. Unless 
^'9 fall beauty of musical form is compatible with dramatic spec- 
ttde, it seems scarcely worth while to call in the aid of the art 
at all. (2.) The Iiifltorj- of the opera sufficiently cBtablishes the 
liropoidtion that a high degi-ec "f musical beaiity in fully com- 
[Kitiblc with dramatic force. From these premises it seems to 
folluw, at U-asi as a probable inference, that the largest quantum of 
Mthetic pleasure, and couspqiiently the highest Ecstliotic value, is 
realised by that order of opera which seeks both a dramatic and 
1 musical end. 

Ono other qiiPsHon presents itself in this diBcussion — What rank 
among the arts must be assigned totheransical drama as it Ims 
liwn here conceived ! Herr Wagner, as is well known, looks on 
the lyrical drama as the highest development of all the arts. 
iaiWirach as it employs the principal of them, poetry, music, and 
punting, in one largo and liarraonioUB senRUous impression, and 
inbiirdinates them to the production of a homogeneous emotional 

The first thing, perliaps, in this theory which strikes the reader 
Miin objection, is its apparent contradiction to the whole pre- 
vii.os development of art. When the arts were in their infancy, 
L'oiabination was their nccessarj- law : they were each too 
titblf to ^^^llk singly. As they grew and became more complex, 
Hiey were not only able to walk alone, but were, in a senBO, coni- 
p^fcd to do BO. Thus painting outgrew the limits of mural 
ilrouration, and music tlie leading of song and dance. That 
lff«c«« of differentiation which characterises the evolution of ait, 
ii»'jfull evolution, involved the separation of tlie indiWdual arts. 
As (■aeh art acquired a more distinctly marked province and aim, 
tl r&imred greater liberty in the fulfilment of its function, and 
"M libuty was only attainable by independence — that is, by 
■'pUStitm of activity. 

Hwr Wagner's doctrine appears to be defective in attaching 
tort Ugh a vahie to mere quantity of a-sthetic impression, and too 
little til tlu' I'lements of purity and tranquilUty. It strikes one that 
lliin .-rMr diiiplnyg itself in the composer's works. With all the 



splendour of effect wliicli such works as Lohengrin undoubtedly 
produce, the mind is apt to suffer from a sense of being over- 
laden and satiated. The whole series of effects is too sensuous 
and too emotional. One longs for moments of comparative 
repose when each sense, no longer distracted by so gorgeous a 
simultaneous impression, might enjoy its own world of beauty in 
perfect purity, and when, too, the quiet play of the understanding 
(that interloper, according to HeiT Wagner) might relieve and 
supplement the over-stimulated activities of sense and emotion. 
HeiT Wagner seems to think the sole condition of harmony in 
art is the co-ordination of distinct series of impressions in the 
closest possible correspondence. He does not recognize that, 
with the conditions of our modem and higlily-developed arts, the 
most perfect harmony of impression is only attainable by a style 
of art which, instead of labouring to invade the soul, so to speak, 
by every avenue of sense, modestly seeks to find a way to itK 
inmost regions by one single avenue. It would seem to be 
obvious that before the whole nature of man can be thus satisfied 
at once by one complex work of art, its several parts must 
become enfeebled and attenuated. 

We would assign to the musical drama a very high placid 
among the arts, but certainly not that unique rank claimed by iti* 
newest representatives. As we have said, the opera is the result 
of a compromise between two arts which have attained a large 
amount of independence ; accordingly, it cannot exhibit all the 
powers of music, for these have long ago outgrown the function 
of distinct poetic expression ; neither can it exhibit all the powen* 
of the drama, since these, through their number and complexity, 
often defy the interpretation of music. The musical drama seekn 
to represent a comparatively simple and highly emotional action, 
having a certain beauty, and so susceptible of musical accom- 
paniment. AMien thus restricted, it is capable of realising a 
considerable hannony of impression, \vith a variety which need 
not distract nor confuse ; hence it claims a place among the most 
dehghtful forms of art, though aesthetic science has as yet nu 
data for detenniniug its exact altitude. 

James Sully. 

THE Year of (jracc ungnieiouRly yielded by tlu> NHtion to the 
Cliurch. ere the relations between the latter and the former 
W clianged. has nearly iiaasi'd away. The twelve months granted 
liT Pnrliament to the Clergj- ni the EBtabliwhed Religion, to decide 
Tfhuliier or not thoy wiU ni-'eive at the hands of the State alone 
dwidonB npon the doetrine,* ceremonial, and discipline of Cqrist's 
ililwh, has nt-arly gmic Men have had space for reflection. 
Tier have had oppcirtunity of seeing things as they are, not aB 
tliiiy have been depirted. They have had leisure to reconsider 
Aiar opinions, and to estimate the effect of their acts and words. 
Men'B hearts have had time to recover tlie etroia to which 
they were eubjected by justifiable excitement from within and 
liijniitiliahk? irritntion from without. Men's minds liave been able 
tn weigh moru dispassionately and less angrily the real issues at 
•^sVe — though fonnerly they may have failed to realize them. 
Thfiv have been able to study the point in debate, historically 
*" Hull ns a matter of poUcy, legally as well as by the light 
"f roli^ous controversy, constitutionally as well as under the 

"nai tbn Poblw Worship RoruUHob Aot diwetly ftfffrjta mrtior* of doctrine wUl 

'■ Pfii'fd »1 Iraglli, nad ia bkuuioJ tliTouglioot tlio paper. It is o( the cliio(«Kt im- 

l"**** th»l tliM (net l« i-Uatly rottlised. It aufflcen hero to nay tb«t, »t tha firat 

'^"■na' in tli>' c'u un ol Arohne, the nuw Judge become* tx pffitio iu Officrial Princip^. 

■.fyni, whifli would ha*8 eomo before the lo(pi I itiinlf Dean of Aroh(>9 will 

: '.r> llio Hral isBtsDi^e or in flrst sppekl, before the new Jadi;e crented b^ 

!. Thill is true whetheraclergynumbBpriweualoil iindor the proyi«i>(n 

i**?!. or o( thi> old Oiurdi Diaciplino Aot; imd Uunnffoclod by llio 

I b<> Jndlootura A ct, or bv the reuewod vit^tr tompamril; inloBed into 

umiltco ol tbo Pri»j CoimciL 



influence of tiudignified panic — though they once failed to seo tlurt 
any questioiis of constitution, law, or history were involved. In 
short, a calm has followed the storm. Persons, on both adea, are 
calculating the leeults — what has been gained ; what may yet b© 
loet t what is inevitable ; what may still be remedied t They are 
asking — who actually caused the turmoil ; what has it already 
done ; what will lie its effect in the future ? 

At such a raonieut, it is not unfit to ask : WTiat answer to the 
Nation will the Cluirch return at the close of the year of grace 1 
What reply will the Clergy make to Parliament when the twelve 
months' reprieve shall have expired f What will they say to their 
flocks, whom they have taught tliat Christ's Kingdom is not of 
this world ; and to the World, who knows that they have so 
taught ? What will tliey say to their own conscience, which 
beheves in the Cathohc Church ; and to GOD, Who knows they so 
believe 'i Are they prepared to witness unmoved the personal and 
official abandonment of spiritual authority aud power, in one word, 
of Jurisdiction, by their bishops ] Are they prepared to accept 
from the State alone, and in defiance of Church law, a purely 
secular tribunal for purely spiritual causes t Are they willing to 
accept, in any case, from a member of the legal profceeioii 
appointed under the sole authority of Parliament, civil decisions 
on the mysteries of tlie faitli. the details of woTBhip. the rules of 
Christian duty ; and to obey such decisions, if the truth be thereby 
compromised i Are they ivilling to retain office and to exercise 
sacred ftuictions in a Church episcopal (speaking popularly) in 
essence as well as in fonn, with a fundamental element of epis- 
copal jurisdictiou withdra^Ti under one aspect, aud with every 
shred of it torn away under another ? Are tliey content, in a 
word, to become the sei-vants of an Act-of-ParUameut Cliui-ch — in 
responsible positions indeed, and highly honoured of the world ifi 
their servitude ; but yet, iu eubjectioii, in all they hold dearest and 
prize most highly and behcve most finuly, to the temporary niling 
of au uncertain majority in the House of Commons i Will they 
teach or cea^e from teaching ; will they act or cease from acting; 
will they retain God's worship as the Cliurch of Chrlst has 
ordered, or mould it after some other fashion, according to the 
decisions of the State-made judge 1 Will they in morals, in cen>- 
monial, above all in doctrine, now consent Ui be bound by, ■where 
hitherto for countless ages they have been free from, tlie rlecisiom* 
of animpalpable tiling called the National Will, as expressed by the 
unequivocal votes of a popular assembly largely composed of Jcwb. 
NonconformistB, and Infidels J Will they obey man iu the plaoo 
of God ? For such, stated iu plain language, is the nlteruaKve 
placed before the Clergj- of tjie Estabhshed Religion. Such ia tb«, 
conflict precipitated, prematurely and unwisely. between^^^H 


(Sinreh ami the World in England. The position here indicated 
muirt be mastered before any sober and well-considered answer 
rail be given to the question — Ought we to obey the New Court in 
Spiritnal Causes ? 

It ifl fully time to ask tliese questions distiuctly and to obtain a 
definite answer to them before July, 1875, comes — a date which 
may be predicted ■with certainty to be a turning-point in the 
history of the Church of Euglaud. It may possibly prove to be 
the beginning of a new era in the history also of a Natiou hitherto 
blessed by the uuiou of Church with State, It is fully time at 
this, the eleventh hour, for two reasons : 

Firetly ; because it is an unhappy fact, in looking baclovards on 

the past twelve months, that we can point to no declaration from 

(inr presumable leaders to help ue, the rank and file of the High 

(iiwrch party, to form a judgment on this momentous subject ; to 

no statement of principle to instruct us ; to no line of action for 

ns to follow. So far as the present "writer can gather, not one 

of our great men, whom we respect and to whom we would 

Kflten, has uttered a sound or made a sign to influence those who 

look to them for guidance at this juncture. No doubt restsons 

mfficient to themselves have caused this silence, siuue the 

Bill became law — for they spoke with no uncertain sound at 

S. James's Hall in 1874. Perhaps it indicates that the time 

fw teaching is over, and that the time for passive endurance 

>nd suffering resistance has begim. But the silence can be 

otWwise interpreted, both by friends and enemies. Perhape it 

il Imt the last proof, thnt the only leadei-s which the Catholic 

pMty acknowledge, and wherein consist its 8upei"natural power 

tod unprecedented succees, are Catholic Priuciples. But, under 

toyUypotheBis, the fact remains. The truths which are imperilled 

snd denied have not been eufort^ed afresh upou us, nor defended 

before the world, nor even stated for diaeusaion or considera- 

non, Tlie course which we ought tn adopt as an important 

snd «ilvancing party in the Chui'cli, or as units of the party, has 

not beeu indicated. Shall we stand or fall together : and how 

"ill either alternative be practically possible ? Shall we allow 

"le Weak to be overpowered or the unpopidar io be attacked: 

»i>d huw will the popular and the powerful amongst us (for such 

thine are) assist their brethren ? Shall we iHi-ectly agitate for 

W»«tnbli«hiucnt, and as a step to tliat end move for the relief of 

"leliieliiipB t'mm tlieir duties in the House of Lords : or patiently 

^*ait its inevitable, if not quick approach! Shall we. as a last 

"^iirce and hi self-defence, in order to save our conscience. 

'*''« into lay-comumniou — whatever that term may import for 

"* v!io aro priests : or shall we reniaia at our posts, individii- 

s'It disendowed and disestablished, turned adrift by the power of 


the State, but yet miinsteiing as priests to all who shall privately 
come to us, and laying in each parish the foundation of a Free 
Church of England of the future : or shall we, as mere spectators, 
inertly witness the gradual but sure disintegration of the old 
historical Church of England at the pleasure of a non-Christian 
ParHament, whose will in spiritual matters is now, for the first 
time, to be enforced as law ? To some of these questions at least 
we might reasonably have expected a reply from distinguished 
men. It is not improbable that some of the questions will find an 
active solution on the paii; of many persons, although no verbal 
response has been made by our leaders. 

Secondly ; it is time to ask these questions, because we are face 
to face with the Act of Parliament which necessitates their answer. 
It is no matter of antiquarian research. It is no matter of history, 
legal or constitutional. We know its parentage. We have wit- 
nessed its origin and growth. We are conscious of its develop- 
ment — its changes, contradictions, and vacillations. We can con- 
ceive its effects ; and have been threatened with its terrors. 
Moreover, we are aware of the lines of mere temporary policy 
upon which the measure was based, and the principles of truth 
ignored by its enactment : of the expediency which will dictate 
its operation, and the rights and powers invaded when it shall be 

Two facts alone are suflScient to discredit the Act of 1874 with 
all Church people. 1st : It violates the principle of the English 
constitution formulated by Lord Coke, but acted upon from time 
immemorial, that " ecclesiastical laws are to be administered by 
ecclesiastical judges," and it may be added, in Ecclesiastical 
Courts. 2nd: It has destroyed, partially and virtually in one 
case, wholly and absolutely in another, the legal jurisdiction 
of the English episcopate, the spiritual authority and power of 
our bishops. Hence, one may be excused, however feeble the 
effort, for making an attempt to answer the question of obedience 
at this crisis of the Church. 

For it is a crisis in the Cliurch's career in this kingdom of 
England — a crisis of which we of middle age have. not seen the 
like, a crisis of which those who read history and study theology 
have not heard the like. Theology need hardly be called to 
supply evidence of the outrage inflicted upon the first principles of 
the Christian Religion, in the mutual relation of the temporal 
and spiritual powers. Any elementary catechism of the faith will 
furnish materials for foiming a right judgment. But history, though 
we have continual evidence in how many ways it may be read, 
can produce no exact parallel to the present ecclesiastical and civil 
paradox. Cases may be quoted, indeed, which offer a partial or 
one-sided resemblance. In the domain of dogmatic taitiv tt* 



f*ifecopate of a province may have snrreudered tho deposit of 
faith, as in the wide-spread deft-ction during the Arian heiPEy, 
Wliether or not this may be considered a parallel instance to the 
Hcticm of the English liialiops in regard to their spiritual jiirisdic- 
lifn. it may be hoped that the parallel extends to tho enre as well 
ax to the diseaso. For. imder episcopal deeertion, it was the 
iifiealliood and faithful laity who preserved the saert-d trust of 
'Vitholic tndh in the enrlyages. It may he by the sufffriug rcaist- 
iiiice of the clergy and the passive enduniQce of the people that, 
in ibeee latter times, the authoiity and power of the bishops may bo 
if^-ained, and the libertiee of the Church may be restored. The 
jircsent inetaiico. however, is nniqiie in the annals of Christianity, 
it may be more respectful to those in authority, and it is not It-ss 
true to fact, to conceive what the histoiian of the future will bo 
forced to record, rather than to Btate what contemporarj- criticiem 
limy remark. The events which miist appear on the page of 
liistor*', when relieved of the technicalities of the legist or politi- 
lisD, are these : Firstly ; that the entire episcopate, as individual 
lasliopB, of a National Church, in the nineteenth centurj" of grace, 
vuluntarily surrendered to a non-Christian popular assembly its 
iiwn inherent and realty inalienable spiritual rights and powers. 
In other words, the Public Worship Regulation Act of 1874, either 
nrtoally or absolutely, destroyed the legal juiisdiction of the 
Kngliflh bifiliops and archbishops. Secondly; that, as a conse- 
i|iieiioe of the parliamentary action of the bifihops. again as 
iitiiividuals, spiritual causes were heard and spiritual sentences 
were pronoimced, on and after July 1st, 1875, by a judge who M'as 
M-i'ular, and in a court that was civil, under the sole authority of 
tile temporal power. In other words, that when the Act in ques- 
~ Lcame into operation, it violated a fundamental principle of the 
Rinn Rehgion, which had from the first been respected in the 
rate union of Church and State. 

e tatter statement of the future historian needs no explanation. 

J la%vyer atlmits its truth. A pohtteian of the eminence of 

Tftdfltone has repeated the dictum of Lord Coke as apphcable 

times, The former statement may be annotated, at 

n its quftUfications. The distinctions aimed at are these. 

public Woreliip Regulation Act has vhiuaUi/ destroyed the 

I jurisdictiiin of tho English bishops, bccanso for certain 
lely, those contemplated by tho Act, and at the will 

mlooenre of three pariBhioners, the twenty-eight Diocesan 
B of first instance, which synchronise with Cliristianity, are 
J ubolished. The Public Worsliip Regulation Act has ahso- 

( destroyed the legal jurisdiction of the English archbishops 

■. fiir every cause, of doctrine, discipline, or ritual, it enacts 

I'lilirion of the two Provincial Courts of first appeal at 



Canterboiy and York. In the first case, the Act providea for the 
hearing and decision of the cause by a lay judge appointed under 
the authority of its owu enactment. In the second, the Act di»- 
tjnctly Btatee. that " all proceedings (including iiecessarily quue- 
tione of doctrine) thereafter taken before the judge (of its own 
creation). . . . within the province of Canterbury, shall hu 
deemed to be taken in the Arches Court." The same law applies 
to the Chancery Court of York, In both provinces "'thie section 
ehall come into operation immediately after the passiug of this 
Act," and "whensoever a vacancy shall occur iu tho" ofBces in 
question. In view, therefore, of the virtual abohtion of the twi'iity- 
eight Diocesan Courts iu certaiu causes, and of the actual abulituui 
of the two Provincial Courts in everj- cause — both at tlie insbi 
of the bishops themselves — is it wide of the mark to affinal 

we are passing through a crisis iu the Church's career i 

Circumstances have made tho wiiter conscious of a wide-spreacl 
conviction amongst the clergy of almost eveiy diocese, that the 
authority claimed for the Court and iiictliod of procudure estab- 
lished under the Public Worship Regulation Act is contrary to the 
first principles of the Christian Religion. There is good reason to 
believe that tliis conviction is shared by even a wider raugii than 
personal observation has enabled hin» to take. It is true, that not 
to an equal extent is there agreement as to 'tho course of action 
which such a belief necessitateH, or euggents. But convictiuu 
must precede common action, to be eflcctive; and it is an uu- 
courag^ig fact for the possible future of tlie Church of England, 
that a large number of her most faithful and zealous clergy 
concur on tlie ocelcMastical illegality of this measure. Tli«y hold 
it to be subversive of the Church's system. It is true, again, 
that the clergy iu question do not all agree in the reasons which 
lead to the commou consent. Some liouestly coufess that the 
subject of jurisdiction is one wliich has not been specially studied 
by them. Some are loyally unwilling to think that the bishops 
themselves wore really aware of the legitimate oonsequcnces of 
their unadvised action, or that thcii- action avtII have tho fatiU 
consequences which seem to be inevitable. Othei-s, with amatt^T- 
of-fact view of the case, conceive tliat piaetically wft are not 
much worae off than before, in th« exercleu of occlesiasfical juris- 
diction ; and that it were better to be judged by an imp ailwfa 
barrister than by a bisliop whosa impartiality might poBBibfj^^H 
questioned. And others, again, take a hopeful, not to ^^^^| 
sanguine view, tJiat the New Act M'ill become, uodei' posaiblq^^^H 
tingcneies, what many au old law has pr<>v<^d itself to be, A*!^^^! 
letter. But all, more or lees lirmly, hold that tho incast^^^l 
1874 legally deprives tlio epiBoopate of B]iirittial authurit^|^^^| 
power which it is essential for a Christian bisliop freely to ^^^| 


wd use. Well may they thiia hold, if it be in any wise tnie that 
llii; tweuty-oijjht Diocefian Courts are (for certain causes) virtually 
sboliflbod, and the two Provincial Courts are (for everj- cause) 
dbwlutely •tolislu-d by Act of Parliament; and tlrnt henceforth, 
iatbeCbuit:h of thin land, spintiml eaiiaea are to be decided by 
ally jod^ in a civil court created by the secular powei-. 

Tbeee circumstances have iuduced the present writer to place 
du rword and to offer for consideration the follomng tliouglrts on 
tbi- new Court for the trial of ecclesiastical offences. Had the 
ignuttion been one of abstract theological truth on deep Cliristiitn 
vtritios, which required learning for its discussion, he had not 
attempted to treat it. But the elements of the faith alone are 
utnally concerned, which lie ou the surface of religion. Had the 
ignaetion been one of intricate State poUcy, or of obscure constitu- 
tional right, which required professional training for its mastery. 
ke bad not ventured to touch it. But the eletuents of legal and 
politioftl knowledge only are necessarily involved, which are 
lloort axiomatic. No doubt hard theological propositions and 
difficult problems of law and politics are, or may be, connected with 
uy full treatment of the subject, in its origin or its results. No 
doubt both divines and lawyers can import obscurity into the 
i]ac«tJoD and display Jearning in tlic argument, which will have 
tiie effect, if it wore not the object, to confuse and blind. But 
(lie plain statement of first principles, and their direct appheation, 
aad the roeolute avoidance of collateral details which hide the 
Bwi iasDC, "will enable any one of average mental power, and 
Dtdiiary historical and theological acquirement, to form a judg^ 
nmt in this matter if not uu-erringly right, at least not seriously 

The writer, with a deep sense of the gravity of the situation 
■nd of the responsibility which is inseparable from the task, 
ventnrea to address himself to the subject of this paper m-ith 
confidence ". venturen, because many would more effectively plead 
for the faith : with confidence, because none could be more ccr- 
laai i>l the premisses, uor more assured of the ultimate result. He 
itpproauhfs it as both priest and citizen. As priest, he has learnt 
tbt theological truth which supports the coustitutional piinciplo 
™I '*eo(^esiustical laws are to be administered by ecclesiastical 
jii^gei,"and with regard to recent enactment it may be added, in 
™d««a«tical courts. As citizen, he has seen the reports day by 
■"y. io the public papers, of the origin, growth and completion of 
a Bin ia Parliament wliich euacta that spiritual causes are to be 
(Icxidcd by a secular judge aud to be decided in a secular Court, 
The old constitutioruil principle is at one -with the first principles of 
the CJairtiati Keligiou. The neiv Parliamentary enactment is 
dertiuctiTC of them. As both citizeu and prieet, then, the writer 

TMi-XSYl. K 



feels at libertj- to ask liis brother clergy and ffUow-coiuitiyraen — 
Ought wp to obey the New Court and method of procedure created 
before niir eyes, which legally violate the fundamental principlea 
of the faitli, and unconstitutionally cftiicel tho enntmct nf our 
oi'diuatiou vowb ! A counsul of disobedience to any authority i« 
at all times a dangerouB coui-se to adopt. To a eli-rgyman it is a 
painful one to advocate. It can only he justified when the ono- 
ecience is abaolntely convinced tiiat it haw to decide betw 
what is due to GoD, and what is claimed by man. Perhapi 
were better in euch a case to supply niateriiils for a repl^H 
directly to make answer to the question. 

Materials may easily be supplied. But before they are fiirn 
it may be well to state other and perhaps less important objeft- 
tions to the authority daimed for the Court and method of pro- 
cedure establiahed under the Public Worship Regulation Act ; aa 
well as to its mode of c-nactraent, and to some of its results. 

Ill addition to the two chief objections already urged, nainely, 
I. the legal suppresKon, whether virtual or absolute, of the spiritual 
juiisilictiou of the bishops and archbishops ; and II. the uucoUj- 
stitutional infringement of the principle that cccleaiaBtical laws 
are to be administered by ecclesiaBtical judges, the follnwing may 
with confidence be affirmed : Tl^ere exi»t» »tp ,1ft of Parliammt m 
ihf. Statute Book, in relation to the Oiuroh, eoinjiarahle to th« Act e>J 
1874. This is beyond controversy, whether the Act be view 
in regard to its subject matter ; or to the mode, objeota, KSd^ 
suits of its operation ; or to the authority which either i 
created it, or was deliberately ignored by it. Let «b define t 
points of comparison in order. 1. Tlie subject matter of the Act 
(so far as the present argiuuent Is concerned) is the spiritual juriw- 
diction of the episcopate, in questions of the doctrine, discipline, 
and ceremonial of the Church, 2. The mode of itri opcratiou 
(under the like limitation) is the unprecedented vray, in either 
Church or State, in which the lay judge of the new civil Court for 
the trial of ecclesiastical offences is appointed, together \vith hia 
method of procedure. Its objects, expressed iu brief, are tlio pro- 
noimcement of spiritual sentences in a secular Court by « 
judge. Its results, amongst others that may be nainedi i 
fuKon and intrusion, as well as the abolition of episcopal "j 
<liction, in the same or different dioceses and Diocesan Court* -^ 
The authority (again with tlie same conditions) which was ignored, 
it may be almost said wliich was defied, whs the co-ordinate 
autliority of Convocation ; and the sole authority wliich \ 
it waa that of ParllaRieut, 

There is no wish to deny that one. nr more of these elei 
may be separately predicattld of other legicdative Acta i 
the Church. But this adminonn gives additiimnl force i 

Act t>J 

lopro- . 
OTored, 1 


asert)C)ii, that all of thcni comljmefl can be affii-med of no other 
meaKUTQ, For iiistaiico: 

Convocation may not have been coneuHed iu relation to Acts of 
ParUaniL'nt which bear upon thL- tpjnporal eidie of ecclesiastical 
fjnestions : bnt, in niatiou to tlieir spiritual eitle, Ifgislation similar 
tothat of 1874 has novcr ytt been forced upon tht> Cliuich in defi- 
Kice of Convocation. Tlit; nu'tliod of piocoduro in ecclcBinrtical 
causes hoa no donbt been dealt with by Parliament. But it has 
only beeii so dealt %vith of late years, and since the siippreesiou 
d" Convocation; never to the present c'xtent, nor in the present 
manne-r. And «\xt compkint is this, timt the new I<.>gislation affects 
nacb more than mere methods of procpdurc. The pnbjeet matter 
of the Act Las bt-forie been the object of legislation : bnt not before 
baa episcopal jnrisdiction been tampered with, much less has it 
been abolished, either in part, or wholly. The last feather turns 
the scale. It is the cumulating wrong of the rnblic Wotahip 
Stgotfltioii Act which makes it intolei-able. In the eyes of 
Cbnrclunen, its sin is cmnulative. both in kind and degree. And 
in it« composite wrongfidnese consiFts the force of the queejion — 
Ought we to obey the New Court whicii it has created ? 
Let OB note these points more iu detail : 

t. Wo may at oncf put aside all Acts of Parliament which con 
eera merely teetamentary and matrimonial mattei's, questions of 
time and money, forms of procedure aud pmiishineut, subdivisionB 
of WM or union of parishes, and the creation of suffi-agau bishops, 
M clearly without the range of the present emjuiiy. We may 
ilw, cif couree. disiegard all Acts which merely gave legislative 
»«ictJon to mcnsnves which possessed the authority of Convoca- 
tini. whether directly or indirectly ; and those which merely 
*ffix«l legal penalties to the breach of that which Convocation 
badob-eady condenmed as wrongful. These Acts of Parliameut, 
ttd fliere are a largi* number of them, are essentiiilly different, are 
'Bffljmit in principle as -well as in detail, from the Act of 1874. 
Thtdr omission from consideration relieves tis from ii wide field of 
investigation. Beyond such limit*, it has been conclusively proved 
ipfn d'lmmentaiy eWdt-nce. tliat "from the Ri formation down- 
*wd»" to the year which witnessed the crearion of the Final 
tMirtiif Appeal, now declared by the voice of the nation to be 
""'rilrand, there is nu legislative action comparable to the Public 
""n^liiii Rcgnlafi(m Act, The only measure which in any degi-ee 
«««jlle8 the Act of 1874, (after the creation of the Court of 
'''^''•-'' ■■ v'hich will be conradercd below) wa« the Act which per- 
1 - of EcclesiuBrical Courts to be mariied men, or being 
xercise. under spiritual authority, legal jurisdiction. 

■ luxation fnmi ancient mic did not aftect the two points 

«n Thidh Dur grie\-anoe against the New Act is based. It did not 


violate the coustitutional pi-inciple, before mentioned. It did not 
infiinge the legal juiisdiction of the bishops, before named. 

Hence, the legislation by Parliament alone on the subject 
matter of the Act of 1874 vitally afTects the question — whether or 
not we ought to obey the Court and Judge to wliich the Act gave 

II. Again : The mode, objects, and results of its operations are, 
as an Act of the civil power, without parallel in the history of 
the Cliurch. Thus : 

i. Viewed legally, how is the new judge appointed, to whom 
we arc expected to yield obedience in spiritual matters? Of 
course, solely under the authority of an Act of ParUament. But, 
beyond this — by what instrunientaUty ? Before a reply be given, 
it may be said, by an agency absohitely anomalous in either Church 
or Stivte. Not by the Archbishops alone ; for the civil power 
must be a consentuig element in the appointment. Not by the 
ciWl power absolutely; for the Archbishops, under condition^ 
may nominate, and can in some sort be said to appoint. By 
what agency then ? The Act is clear and decided on this point: 
By that of the Crown, by Letters Patent in the last resort : at 
any stage, subject to the approval of the Crown : under certain 
conditions only, and still with the sanction of the Sign Manual, 
by the joint action of the two primates. A chain possesses the 
strength only of the weakest link. The Act of 1874 has only 
the power of its feeblest clause. Speaking ecclesiastically, the 
weakest clause is the one wliich enacts that " her Majesty may 
appoint," "the Official Principal of the Arches Court." Such is 
the Statute law of England of to-day. The two Archbishops, if 
they concur in their choice, if they concur within a period of six 
montlis, may nomhiate to the vacant office — to be held " during 
good behaWour" by — "a person," "qualified" as we shall see 

It need not be said, how irreconcilcable is this matter of nomi- 
nation and appointment, even legally, with the constitutional 
mode adopted from time immemorial in the Church of England. 
Observe, the constitutional method, by which the Archbishop 
alone appointed his own Official Principal, was the mode recognized 
by the State, legislatively, judicially, and executively. The Arch- 
bishop's Official Piincipal became one of the acknowledged judges 
of the land. But now, boaiing in mind theological diflferences in 
high places, and the limited number of pei-sons really competent 
to act as an ecclesiastical judge, it is not improbable that the two 
primates might disagree in their choice, or might fail to agree 
Avithin six months. Even supposing agreement 'witliin the allotted 
period to be possible, the Act still \dolates fundamental principles 
on the appointment of an ecclesiastical judge. The judge repre- 


Milted the mind of tlie bisliop ivho appuintcd him. Tlie bishop 
^ipointed tlie judge on his own eole and individual authority, 
Tliwe, heretofore, wove common -places in Canon Law. They 
an? now both contmvened by Act of Parliament. In no case, in 
th? future, win the .judge of the Pvovincial Court be appointed 
ly the sole authority of the Archbiabop. Under favourable 
lifpiuustancee, the new judge will essay, in the north and south 
rxppctively, to reflect the opinions of two co-ordinate archie- 
piscopal nomiueeg. Under hostile, but not improbable circnm- 
tilaocca, the new judge Mall reflect the policy of the leader for 
die moment of the dominant faction in a popular and non- 
OiTistiail afwembly. 

ii. Viewed spiritually, wliat are some of the objects of the New 
Court which we are siippoeed to obey? The objects are at least 
twivfold. Firstly, to pronounce decisions in spiritual cauaoa. 
Sooonfly, to enforce auch decifiiouB by spiritual sentences. On the 
first, it might bp enough to aay — if we take the weakest link of 
the chain by which to test its etrength— that " a pcraon" appointed 
u we shall see by Letters Patent from the CroM-n as " a judge of 
Ihe ProWncial Courts," does not atrildugly fulfil Lord Coke's canon 
of coui*titutional law, nor the requirements of the law ecclesiastical. 
On the second, it might suffice to note the scandal, which appears 
to he immiuont, of purely spiritual senteuces being pronounced on 
purely spiritual persona in Courts of law, with an eccleeiaatical 
litle indeed, but as to origin, authority, "iniles and orders," judge, 
mode of procedure and sentence, purely secular and civil. 

But something more has to be said on a spiritual view of the 

Firtt: What are the qualificatioua of the "person" nominated, 
^belhfr by the sole wll of the premier, or by a compromise 
l>*lwecn the two primates, to the office of " a judge of the Pro- 
nadal Courts ? " Here again, the chain must be tested at its 
"calrart part. The Act itself may reply — " A barristei^at-law 
"hn ha« been in actual practice for ten yeare." To a Clirist- 
ttn mftii, not to say a priest ; t^ one who holds the article of the 
Cleei " I belie\-e in the Holy Catholic Clmreli," not to say a High 
Qnndunau, mich an anawer is starthng. It would have bceu 
^dHng, could the reply have been made apart from the lowering 
WaMnces which an- inseparaVile from the iigitation connected with 
Well n tiieofiiire as the Public Worship Regulation Act. Has it 
'o«i come to this, that the old traditional and historic Church of 
'•"glaiiil is content to see placed as "a judge" in her metropolitan 
*^>UTt of apjieal in spiritutil causes, " a person " who has practised 
*|-n years as an advocate at the common bar t Is thu Church of 
Efiglaod prepared to submit to the decision of a secular lawyer of 
tfoyeam' standing all canoes, moral, ceremonial, and iloctrimil, 



which of riglit^ iniiy hi; brmight hi^fuic her aticieut and Bpiiitnal 
Provincial Cinu-ta ^ Are her sous so fatally demuralized as to 
jecogniae the jiidgmcuts uf n youtliful baiTiater-at-law on questiouB 
which need the mature wisdom of divines even to onlfrtain. or 
which may aetunlly have divided CliriBtendom into antaguniBtic 
Wihools? God grant tbit neither the Chaveb. nor her loyal euos may 
be capable of ench treaelury. 

Second : Wliat ia the subject matter of the decieions of tl 
judgu^ of the Pro^-iiicial Courta 1 The gi-avity of this tiuoet _ 

Jiardly be exaggerated. It tias been supposed amongst l3aA 
clergy who may be made the first, victims of the new legielntioo, 
and it has been widely disseiimiated, that together witli other and 
even leee dignified matters, of the ■' fabric, ornaments, and itimi- 
ture " of the Chinch, quettious of "mere ceremonial alone" will be 
decided in the newly created Court. Passing by the studied affront 
to Divine Worfihip wliich is intended by such a phrase, an affront 
which is offered to all who believe with the Creed of S. Athonasius 
that " the CathoHc Faitli is this, that we woreliip One God 
in Trinity" — it may suffice to say that such a stalement &Us 
short of the truth. Ceremonial, indeed, will be atytuKcated upon 
in the New Court; but not ceremonial alone. Every question 
which might have formerly come in appiul before the old legili- 
niate Pro\-incial Court, may now be taken In the first instance 
before the newly-made judge. The section which providl.^B for the 
appointment of the "person" to be "a judge of the Pro\'iooia] 
Courta " oame " into operation immediately after the pueeiug of 
tha Act." Hence, on the first vacancy which occurs in tlio office 
of the Dean of the Arches, any barrister of ten years' standing may 
bu called to decide on tlio higheBt verities and deepest mj-sterieB of 
the Catholic Faith. This point has not received the attention 
which is due to its Eiipremo ijuportauce. It must not be for- 
gotten that, ill its mode of operation, the Public Worship Heg;ula^ 
tion Act directly aflFecta not only the discipline and worship, .] 
abo the doctrine uf the Cliurch of Christ. 

iii. Viewed ccctesiaBtically, what may be the aspect 
the newly-croated Couii, and the newly-made judge take, _ 
obedience to them ui the matter of jurisdiction is claimed at i 
hands'? Without etrainuig overmuch the ancient theory of the 
episcopate, it may be asserted nith little danger of contradiction 
as an abstract principle, tliat the integrity of a bishop's oftice 
demands two couditiutiB, Firstly, a bisliop must have both 
authority and power to pionoiuico spiritual sentences withJ a IJtiBu 
linutfi of his o^vu diocese. Secondly, his diocese must be freud^^^f 
the like eontences being pronounced by any other bisliop. ^^^H 

The first condition, it is obWous from a glance at tliu A4^^^| 
1874, w openly dittrugn nU-d. If it be is only on qne^^^H 

1 at mi* 1 

(tu<:nr WE TO obey the new court' 133 

iWlmich Diviiio Wdrsliiji is tin- must important, that the bishop's 
jnnadJction. is -n-ithdrawii : wf reply. Canon Law hue ever included 
tin? Worsliip of G< m amuugst those qucetions which are within the 
pto^ince of a bishop to decide. " I speak of canonical judg- 
oeat" (nays Uc Marca, (jiiotud by Dr. Pusey), •* wherein tlie question 
waa of faith, atremviiieii. discipUno ol' the clergy, or any caiiouieal 
q<iL-stiou." This is thu answer of a Churchman. But there is 
Buuther answer which a politician will respect, Tho Act of 1874. 
in withdrawing the legal jurisdiction of tho bishop and placing it 
in tho Itauds of one a))poiuted by the authority of the State, 
oommits the constitutional blunder of dividing tJie legislative and 
judicial powers. It would seem tliat our legifllatore, whilst in some 
tDrtoncco boastfully i^orant of Church law, were equally forgetful 
of llieir ow^l prindples in Htate-cnift, What civil government 
could exist for a day, if the authority for its legislative and judicial 
poWWB were divorced t Yet, this is the strange anomaly which 
tin State attempts to force upon the Cliurch. An authority 
vdud) has no power to make law aeeiunes power to interpret 
law. In other words, the State, which is powerless to legislate 
for the Charch, has usurped power to adjudicate for the Church, 
in spiritual matters. 

The second condition needs no professional knowledge to enforce. 
Uii import is self-evident in relation to any well-ordered civil 
oonununity. and nmch more to the Divinely organized society of 
theChnreh. But into what ecclesiastical coul'iisiou does the Public 
WoTBhip Il'-'gnlation Act precipitate the Church of England, in 
kiUi iu* pni^-incos and in all its dioceses i Into a disorder which 
i« chaotic. Not only, for tlie purposes contemplated by the 
Act. is tlie ancient i^colosiaatical authority and power of the 
twwty-eight comprovincial bishops legally abolished, but the 
Midem Parliamentary jurisdiction of the two primatiat sees 
Iwomes confiiaed in regard to tliemselves, becomes intruded 
lu rtgard to others. For. upon what principle, civil or spiritual. 
it niay be asked, does Canterbury combine with York in the 
sppfiiutmeiit (subject to tho approval of the Crown) of a per- 
•ffllndnting judge to serve in two incongi'uous capacities '. The 
uW is foreign to every principle of Canon Law, The reality is 
Inkuowu to tJie history of (Christianity. From time immemorial in 
"MClmrch and Kingdom there have existed of ecclesiastical right 
Wd national sanction, cither with or without the official titles, iht 
jndgy of the Provincial Court of Canterbm-y, and the judge of the 
Prorindal Court of York, In the nineteenth century an Act of 
rarliiunent has treated a new thing in national law which it seeks 
•"gmft upon Cliurch law— -" a judge of the Provincial CourU oi 
(Werbury and York " united. Such an abortion in legislation is 
inconoeivabW to i-oi-losinHtipiil prooediue. It is a worthy product 



of a popular aesciubly widely including Jews, Noiicoiiforroiste^ 
aud rufidck, which aepiree to rule the Cliurch nf ChiUST by the 
promptings of a National couecience ; of a pupular ntiscinbly 
whoee action on religious topics an admixture of Greek. Latin. 
and English Catholicity is ineufficient to confine witliin the 
limltB of even National Christianity. Jurisdiction, then, may be 
assumed to be confused. It is also intnided. For, i-vcn if wo 
ciiri admit the right, as the Act has given power to the two 
primates to extrcise a confused juiTsdiction in the appointment of 
a judge for their own Courts nf. appeal, two questions may fairly 
be asked by any of their Buffmgans. Durham in the north and 
London in the Boutli may claim to know why the confused juns- 
dictioii of Canterbury and York combined is intruded upon fhura ? 
Chester and Chichester may seek to learn, upon what principle of 
Canon Law such intiTided jurisdiction is enforced in cases of first 
instance by means, be it observed in passing, of a Court of first 
appeal ? It may be loft to the authors of the eccleaasticul oliaoB 
to answer both questions. 

Hence, again, the legislation by Parliament alone on the mode, 
objects and residts of the Pubho Worship Regulation Act. x-iewod 
in certain aspecte only from a legal or spiritual or eccIesiaBtical 
positiou, niatorially affects our reply to tlie question, wht:tlioromot 
we ought to obey thfcNew Court and judge which theActcreatedt 

III. Once more : By the passing of the Act of 187'1, the 
authority of Convocation was not only deliberately ignored ; it 
was Dver-ruled, and even to a certain extent defied. In this fact 
is contained another element in any answer to the questioD of 
ebedience which may be made by a priest, whose ordination vows 
pledge him, and only pledge him to " the discipline of ClIRIST, a» 
this Church and Realm hath received the same." Whatever may be 
the value of the declaration, (of course it lacked the sanction of the 
Upper House) the Lower House of the Convocation of Canterbury 
decidedly pronoimeed against the Bill then under debate. A 
Committee had been appointed to consider the Bill. After pro- 
posing a large number of amendments, extending over four closely 
printed pages, their Report concluded as follows: "The Com- 
mittee after having . . . carefully considered the provisions of the 
Bill . . . deeply regret that, even with the amendments suggcBted. 
they are lUiable to recommend legislation in the manner proposed 
ID the Bill." They also add a statesman-like corollary in favour of 
the Church Discipline Act being repealed, and the existing Con- 
sistory Courts being reformed, as suggested in their llepoi't, and 
as the only legitimate way to meet existuig difficulties. 1(, is 
needless to say that the advice of Convocation was not accepted. 
It was not even avowedly entertained. The Lower House of Um 
York Convocation indirectly arrivedat a like couclusion. ^^^1 



At this etag^ of the argumont it is oiioiigh to jioint out a 
<]il«nnia in which the temporal power has placed itself". The Public 
Worship Regulation Act does one of two tilings. It is a legislative 
Act which either only regulates ecclesiastical procedure, or effects 
mure than the regulatiou of pvoeednrc. If it does more than 
regulate procedure, as we hold that it dot's, from the hifltory both 
'iflhe Cliurch and Xation of England, it is clear that Convocation 
u a whole ought not. upon constitutional principles, to have been 
ifoored, nor in one chamber at leaet to have been defied. If it 
dpes less than legislate upon firet principles, as' some of its dt-fenders 
.Mnme, i.e. if it only regnlati's procedure, the following facts, 
hnmght to light by the research and learning of the Rev. E. S. 
Gnodle:, in a recent pamphlet entitled "Canon or Statute," 
(&7es) published in the form of a Correspondence with Lord 
Sdbome, have to be met and dealt ^-ith. He shows, from docii- 
Doitaiy evidence : 

lit. That (with the exceptions above mentioned) "from the 
Beformation downwards" to the year 1V17 "the discipline of the 
Cbnrcli and the constitution of tlic Ecclesiastical Coui'ts were re- 
garded as within the province of Convocation." This Mr. Grindle 
proveet not only from the acts and records of Convocation itself and 
"thfl claims which lliat body made on its own behalf, but also hy 
the acts and admissions of the Crown and its responsible advisers," 
It need only be added, tliat the State oiHcially recognized such 
dlklmg with ecclesiastical procedure by Convocation, by endorsing 
nd acting npon it. 

2nd. That " during the period in which legislative enactments 
iSacting the (procedure of the) Ecclesiastical Courts were made 
by Convocation, the Statute Book is absolutely ban-en of any 
ndl esiactmenta made by Piirliament." It is only seventy years 
tfterthe forcible Buppression of Convocation tliat " we find legis- 
Utin ensotments, directly affecting the intemal constitution of 
ibtEcelesiaBtioal Coarta, made by Parliament without the assent of 
tltaChnreh." Mr. Grindle well adds: "The system thus begun iu 
H8T has brought the Church to a state bordering on disruption. 
It i« incompatible with the profession of the Church of England 
tUt she is reformed on the model of the Primitive Cliiirch," 

How will the authors of tlie Public Worship Rcgidation Act 
iKTftpa from this dilemma i On the lowest view of the case 
(one that a Churchman cannot accept) the recognized authority 
•faiiA, iu the history of Church and State, liad liitherto decided 
tnttters of procedure ought not, on constitutional principlea, 
tf* Uve been iguon-d, much less defied. On the highest view, in 
^-pa^ to the exercise of spiritual jurisdiction, wliich has been 
•ipprewcd, the case is oven stronger. 
Tile lafrt point to he noted in tlus place is the fact tliat the Act 



of 1874 WI18 panned by tlie Bolu authority of Parliament, 
be sufliuient to leave tliis etatouieut to speak for itself, were it not 
that the iugeiraity of some whose minds are ill at eaee may seek 
to elude the force of tliis plaiu positiou. They may be faiu to 
apply a salve to tlioir conBcience. The supposititious reoaoiis 
allegtid for obedience to the New Court aud judge may be Uypo- 
UieticiiUy combated. l*'or example: Men may sny that the 
Church uame to the Statu and asked for leg^islation ; and that 
Parliament hjiviuft legielatod at the requi^t of the biehoi)B, the 
clergy are bound to ub(i(liitnce. Men may aay that the fact of 
the bishops haviug aasjated to pasetho Act of 1874, and haviug 
secured a veto upou its operation, eithfcr positively or nega- 
tively suiipliefl a wanting spiritual element in the grosa : and 
that the uew judge working iu harraouy with the bishop of & 
diocetie, or the bishop coufimiiug the decieious of the new judgv. 
supplies the elemeut of spirituahty in any ^ven casft. Men may 
eay that the old Court of Arches aud the old Judicial Committee 
possessed no real elenient of spiritual authority, aeoordJug to 
ancient precedent ; that the new Court of Arches aud the new 
Supreme Court possess none ; and hence that if obedience were 
paid to the one, it is duo to the other. Men may say that obtp 
dience may be rendei-ed under protest. "^^^ 

Take tliese reasons iu order : 

( 1 .) The weakest of all the stimulants, as the eahe really b« 
on application, ie the last — the argument in favour of protest, 
act against conscience, under protcBt, 13 a weak device of » f«ebl« 
mind. But suppoaiiig a protest offered — in what tenus would it 
be made! to whom would it bo given i who woidd receive it t 
where would it bo deposited ! what woidd be the effeot of it % 
whom wotUd it benefit in the futiue f whom would it dd'eud at 
the present? (2.) The argument against the spiritual authority 
alike of all the Court« is more difficult to answer. Somewhat wiJl 
be said on thia hereafter. But the true answer is this : Undisr ex- 
isting oircmnstauces wo cannot wait till perfectiou be found in the 
matter of obedience. We must liave some source of authority to 
which to defer. Tbo Arches Court possessed an elemeut of autho- 
rity. Two wrongs do not make one right. It is bad policy l<i 
destroy one authority wUcU some acknowledged by oraating 
anotlier authority which nouo \vill acknowledge. (3,) The mlso.- 
mrnt that tho bishop, eitlier before or after tlie deciaon by a civil 
officer hi a seculiir Coiui^ can supply an element of ^rituuUty if 
diliicutt to grasp. Take the latter case : How can the bi^iop 
confirm, or othei-wisi; iuSaeuce for good or ill, tho secular dticitsioo t 
Ttiis argument prosuppoaes tliat tJie bishop's jurisdiotjon is legally 
L- sentonot' V 

ttiat ocMp 


firmuiH If tht-re be no such Coi 

utd a parish prid) 


bound to accept tlie mere iiidividual oxprfesimi of his diocesan's 
pm'stc (ipiuiun "' If the Bunteiicu be not biudiug in oonBcieuce 
before) it could tiut be binding aftei', suult expression of epiecopal 

Wie negative argiunent (4.) iu fftvowr of Mibmiseion to the judgp, 
&wn.tllv fact CbHt the bitihope hold in their hattds the practical 
mrioiig of llie Act, and by their veto, in any given case, can bus- 
|»nd it8 operation, cuts two ways and proves too much. If credit 
bidaimed for any individnal prelate fur the abeolute suspeiision 
Jibe Act in his diocpee, or against any particular priest; wliat 
tantGDce inuKt attjtch to any other prelate who allows of its being 
I'jtfoToed t If credit be claimed for the episcopal body which suc- 
ceeded in st^ooring thw right of veto ; ivhat verdict must be parsed 
apun tJte ordei itself wliich made such oonceseion possible, by firet 
Toluiitartly enrrendering to the will and pleasure of Parliament 
llieii legal jurisdiction .' (5.) The positive iirgument in favour of 
obediitncw to tlie Court, from the fact that thu bishops assisted to 
ubtoiii the enaotini-nt of the Bill, and from the statement tliat the 
Qauch iLsked the 8tato to legislate upon a spiritual question, iti 
fonnded partly in truth and partly in Hution. The bishops, as 
^ntaal pet'i«, undoubtedly co-operated in legahzing the New 
Omrt. But ueitlifr the Churi'h, nor any wljo represented the 
Church, sought Ironi the temporal power spiritual authority. Two 
iaatH tend to prove this assertion, let. In their corporate capa- 
dly, 08 an episcopal college, the bishopa took no action whatever 
in llie {uti^iig of the Act. To the uiinds of many, such absence 
(if corporate action ia an evidence of providential interference 
Ity tlid Divine Head of the Church. The Bill was not iiitrodnced 
into the Upper House of Convocation. It is clear, then, that 
lift [wmoiial concurrence of individual members of a corjiorate 
•wiety cannot cimiproniiRe, or in any way eoininit, the body as 
JO inUigml whole. i!nd. The idea which has occun'ed to some 
oinilt, of n council of bishops petitioimig Parliament to pass 
tbe Act, is noreal. Nothing comparable to a coimcil was held. 
•Mmig compurable to a conncU, midev existing ecclesiastical 
liW eauld be held ontaide Convocation* as binding on the Church. 
WlmtfiVur abstract opinion may be entertained on the relations of 
Umj two bodies, or Upon the privileges and powers of one of them. 
tlieie actively exist at the present moment, and there have, in fact, 
•aisU'd time out of niind two chambers in the sacred Synod of the 
^^^KMM Church, with co-ordinate powers. The voice of the 
^g^h Clmrch is to be heard in the combined utterance of both 
Houses of Convocation, not in the separate resolution of eitlier. 
TliiB is the law of prescriptive right in the Church of England, and 
"part aud parcel of the English constitution. It is not needful 
t" tlefond the pr.fiitiiiii from a theoretic standpoint. It is enough 



\o fidv Unit ill tlip Anglican Comninnkiii the iinesthood pOHsesM^ 
find lias ever pnseepsed, in the matter of legislation, co-ortliiiatt- 
po-n-ei-8 with the episcppnte. Evon if it coitld ho affirmed fiiat the 
Upper House of Convocation had petitioned Pjirliamcnt to the 
end in view, the Clmrch would not have been oomproniiBed. But 
it cannot be bo aftimied. In truth, there was nothing comparable 
to a council of the bishops taking action in the matter. There 
was. it may be admitted, eoniething yeiy like a cabal. 

Hi:nce, the enactment by the aiitliority of Padimeut alone, and 
the defiance of the rights and privileges of Convocation in the 
passing, ivithont its concurrence, of the Public Worship Regula- 
tion Act, further and most eeriously affects our answer to the 
question — Whether or not in conseience we ought to obey the 
Court and judge which owe their existence solely to the Now 
Act of 187^ ? 

Jlateiials may now be offered for making a reasonable and 
consistent reply to the question of this paper. The main position 
in tlie argument is now reached, and the two points of lending 
importance may fitly bo discussed under one bead. The conten- 
tion is this : The bishops have been deprived by the authority of 
Parliament, not only without the consent but against the will of 
the Cliurcb, of the legal jurisdiction wliieh is essential to the due 
and full performance of their episcopal office. Such jurisdiction 
involves doctrine, and discipline, and ceremonial. The Church 
has tliereby suffered grievous spiritual wrong. The two grave 
issues above stated are only the cause and effect respectively of 
this central position : and both effect and cause are eiihsidiaiy to 
it. The virtual or absolute suppression of the Spiritual Courts 
is the cause. That eccleaiastioal laws are unt administered by 
ecclesiastical Judges is the consequence. The clergy are intiinately, 
though by nu means exclusively, affected by both. It is a matter, 
spiritually, of far more importance to them than the susponsion of 
liabeax corpiix, or any other constitutional principle affecting the 
laity. They have been deprived of a prescriptive right ivhich lion 
been enjoyed by thu Church, and has been used legally with the 
support an<l consent of the State, from time immemorial. The 
right is one which Parliament did not, in any sense, give; and 
could not really take away. It is one wliicb existed inherently in 
the episcopal office bofoiv Parliament assigned to it legal sanction. 
It is one wliieh may still be employed, had wc bishops equal to 
the occasion, of chooshig between f'lesar and Chhtst, even after 
Parliament has >s-ithdrawn fi-om it the sanction cif the law. But 
the State-, though it cannot touch the principle in question, if* 
all-powerful to suppress it« legtd exercise. And tliis power j6fc 
exerted to iIr- ftill. The State has withdrawn from the bi(4 


ISiDrcU legal junadictJoii wliioli the epiHcopate has from tlie 
iisl both enjoyed aud used. Tliia eupproaaioii of legal right, 
lunsunimatetl witbmit tliu cuusent aud againet the will of tho 
Clurch, is nothing short of a rovohitiou. 

Tlic deprivation of spiritual right was, if the paradox be 
nliovcd, parliamentary* m form and uncouatitutioLkai in essenct;. 
Il has forced the <:lvrgj" into an auomaloiis position whence they 
taaonlv fficapc by meaue which, in coii8e<;[Uence of legislative ille- 
gililj', may appear to be, bnt are not, lawlees. It lias left the clergy 
ill a position Arhicli has no parallel in the history of English 
I'liHBtitutional principles, in at least three distinct aspects. Even 
frum a political standpoint tliese aspects are worthy of note. 

KirsUy: The clergy liave suffered deprivation of right by a 
popular assembly into wliich they alone, as a class, of all Englisli- 
iiim are disqualified from entering. As an order entirely without 
iflpreaentjiticin in the House of Commons, Parhameut has forcibly 
iviiiidrawii from them the prescriptive right of centuries. 

Secondly: The clergy have been thus in a eense outlawed, 
tiuUt the legislative Cliamber in which they both can sit aud are 
rtpreBcuted has been ignored by Pai^hament in the conduct of the 
nieaturc by wliicli thoy have eufFcred. As a matter of liistorj". 
Ikt Cliandfcr luiil regulated the major part of the procedurw 
WW, together witli the right, swept away. But in 1874, though 
t^ course was urged. Convocation was not constitutionally sum- 
auined to initiate, concur in, aud confinn the measure of sup- 
[meaioQ : uor lias it had official opportunity to oppose or condeum 
lliij Aut Hynodically. 

Thirdly : From the operation of these causes, the clergy are 
placed in a pueition wliicli they never occupied in the times of 
Tnddr tynniiiy, which they liavc not occupied since the daj-s of the 
?re«iRt;beUiou. As an unrepresented claBS and disqualified order, 
ItiCT Iiave been subjected to the jurisdictiou of a judge whose 
"eitioa aud tenure of office is based upon one auUiority, whilst 
tlieUwlhathe administers is based, and almost wholly reared, 
Hfuii another and different autliority. This has been effected not 
wilj^ witliout their consent, but, it may be fairly added in view of 
IW Efport of Convocation, against tlieir will. The clergy will 
luiw txecuie tlieir sacred functions mider the jurisihctiou of a 
^cnlar judge who interprets spiritual law by the solo authority of 
"* ((.<ai])onil power. With an imperial government, the autho- 
o^Of tbo logialatire aud judicial powers have been separated. 
*^« coiifmiion more perfect, political aud ecclesiastical, severally 
*oil jointly, uito which professional etatesmanship has fiillen, be 
"^inivvd; It w one result of the enactmont of the PubUc 
tof lU-gulation Bill, 
~ft anomalies affect, in the first instance aud to the largest 



liegi-ee, tlie clergy. But thoy do tiol affect the clergy onlyi fc^ 
a body politic, as in ii body spiritual, if oue member Buffer, all the 
inernberB suffer witJi it. It is inipoasible thus to deal with a class, 
and mtieh more with an order, of men of (^diiCAtion, pomtioii, and 
influence, imequalled as a whole in theee charaoteriBtics. who are 
Ideated in eyery paiish and collected in every town of tlie king- 
<lom, aud to imagine that the e\-il will not find yon out. In one 
way at least the sin %vill come home to the political crouscieoo© — 
peihaps sooner than is expected. It requires neither a prophetic 
mind to predict, nor a, legal miiid to perceive, endless and perlmpe 
iusupyvable diiEeulties in the mere practical working of a meamjre 
avowedly at issue with Canon Law and not in harmony with oven 
Parliamentary legislation for the Church. The New Act Avaa con- 
ceived in too secular a spirit, it was too imskilfuUy drawn, it was 
too often revised and amended, it was passed too hastily — not t^ 
dwell on faults of greater moment — to permit of a smooth couree 
in the future. Any way, the anomalies created by the State alone 
essaying to rule the Church are not matters of opinion, but mutters 
of fact. It is a fact, that the bishops have been deprived of their 
spiritual jurisdiction solely by the will of the temporal power, and 
againBt the %vill of the Church. It is a fact, that the clergy nre 
now forced to accept deeisionfi iu spiritual matters at the bar of 
a State-made tribunal of a State-made judge. It is a fact, after 
every theological subtlety haa been urged, after every legal 
quibble lias been exhausted, !Iow ought the Church to meet this 
last attack of the AVorld ? By active disobedience ; by pasave 
resistance ; or by submission ? 

The materials at disposal for making answer to tliis queatiffli 
may conveniently be di\'ided in accordance with the subject matter 
of them. There are at least two ways in which the whole subject 
may be considered with a %*iow of obtaiuiug a right reply. 
Answer may be made in relation to practical action, and in regard 
to theoretic principle. It is possible tliat the answer may not be 
the same iu both cases. It is conceivable that a system tlieoreti- 
caUy ^Hcious may work well ; or being indefensible in practice, may 
yet be sound in piinciplL-. And in the various relntions betwewn 
the temporal aud spiritiial powors. the obscurity of their origin 
and the difficulties of their adjustment, neither nlternative ia 
improbably false in the matter of recent secular legislation on 
ecclesiastical topics. Tn either case, any answer wliich we wm 
^ve to tlif qnesrion — Ought wo to obey tlie New Court t raa>t 
bo weighted with conditions. But, il' neither alternative may 1)6 
iiffinned of the Public Worsliip Regulation Act, the rcjily tn be 
I'frtnrned must be unconditioned. If it cannot bo wiid. that the 
jiractieo is good though the principle is bad, nor tJiat the t hBBHB 
\f- good though its action is batl — bnt rather that actid^^HI 

OUGHT \n: to obicy the xew court? m 

[*rfeeijile are liotli hopelesBly wrung and Ticioiis — tlit-ii. the evi- 
dence against the Act of 1874 is cumulative, and tlie Tt-rdict to 
I* prrHionnced will be unanijiioufl and duoided. We should have 
Iwen fi)itiiit?fl in sucli a verdict had we Wen enablt-d to con- 
sdor the e\-idence for arnviag at it from both these etandpnint«i, 
tho practical and theoretic. Both are of importance : and each 
witiiont the other is, iu a nieaanre, imperfect. The limitations of 
BpBce, however, prevent the diecuHsion of both ; and a choice 
must be niAdtt. The t-^-idenco against the New Act from a practical 
side ia shorter, more intelligible, leas unattractive, and equally 
ileeisiv<>. It need not be said in regard to difficidties in histoi-y, 
theology, law, and coiistitiitional polities, that the practical view 
is not the Itarder. But the argument froni principle can be eus- 
taiuid, and would be stated, did circnmstancee permit. Perhaps at 
another time, if not in another place, the present writer may have 
na iipportiuiity of facing these difficulties. Indeed Bome will be 
inddentally met and answered in the following pages. But in the 
iiwin, lilt prnotioal argument only will be disousfed ; and even 
npon its merita alone may be confidently demanded a decision 
liri«iil« to tho claims of the Public Worship Regulation Act. 

In order to estimate accurately the extent and gravity of the 
pnctioul cliauge clFcctod in thfi position of the Church by the* 
[AMng of the Public Worship Regulation Act, it is necessary to 
mnembcr definitely what position ecclesiastical jiirisdiclion 
ucDnpied prior to its enactment. This may be done, as far as 
pMuble, historically, without pledging the present writer to 
apjirov* i>f nil that he i-ecords — specially on three points, 1, It 
is bender the raarb for liiin to express an opinion upon the 
wKloaaKtical validity of the Arches Court, or its legitimate 
Mntinnity as a spiritual power from antdent times. When 
iipiiiinnH an- ao niuoh divided on this involved topic, it would be 
ptwiHHptuouH to dogmatize. He may add, however, that enthn- 
suwni for the spiritual validity of the Court has been cooled, nince 
Ae Dean of the Arohea has ao far acknowledged the jurisdiction 
"flKf lay Final Court as to decline to hear questicjus re-argued 
\i-!t>Te himself which had been ruled by the Judicial CVramittee : 
"MlliHt, not on principle, but from expediency; not on questions 
•Wiled after full, but after ex pmie arguments. 2. It is need- 
W fiir him to point out all the blots in the principle or 
'''twJa fif the Omroh IWacipline Act, or in the working of or 
"•"f* Imly in the absenoe of work in. the floniflstory Courts 
"^theliiiihopB. Convocation itself, in the Report above quoted, 
Ittviiig adv.icated the repeal of tho first and the refonn of the 
'"tt, titr: whoi-toominga of both need be disguised by no Cliurch- 
^AAl Least of all are we committed to tho Church Discipline 
^^^Hik^ becAme law during the time when Convocation was 



sileuced. 3. It would be a work of supererogatiim fur any one !!<> 
attempt to umlei'vahie in ecclesiastical matters the coHBtitution, 
mode of procedure, or judgments of tliw Judicial Committee of 
the Privy Council. The positive ignorance which its judgments 
display in questions affeetiug the Church ; the nii&-statemeut of 
facts, peiTersion iif histoiy, confusion of dates, tampering "witL 
fonnularies of which it has been guilty ; and, more than all, the 
eelf-contra dictions of its pronoun cements, and the wide-epread 
feeling against their absolute impartiaUty in unpopular casee, 
have at length produced a re-actioD. DiBcreditcd even with 
the author of its exieteuce, Parliament hae decreed its un- 
honoured fall and unregretted fxtiiiction. In all three instances 
the writer would fain be free from being supposed to approve 
because he fails to condemn. But nnlcse ecclesiaBtioal dis- 
cord be complete in the Church of England, some point of 
departurfc must be f'oiuid or made for our investigation : and the 
existing order of ecclesiastical jurisdiction supphes the needful 
basis. Unless wo liave passed ecclesiastically from one abyss of 
absolute chaos to another, there must be the possibility of making 
compariaiius between what we were, and what we have become. 
And without tliinldjig that the foniier system of ecclesiastical 
jurisdiction was faultless iu practice, it may be sliown that the 
present system is infinitely worse. That, at least, was bearable. 
This is felt to be intolerable. 

It is now, as it always ought to have been, an accepted prin- 
ciple with tlie High Church party, that the decision of a lay 
Court of Final Appeal cannot itself compromise the Church which 
does not foraially accept its decisions. However ecclesiastically 
iaconveuiont, it is possible for a Church to subsist in default of the 
existence of a Spiritual Coui-t of Appeal higher than that of the 
Archbishop. In yinv of tlie marvellous revival in the Church of 
England during the past lialf-century, it might be said that a 
Church wliich lacked such authority could rise from a very de- 
based condition. We have reason to know that this was a charac- 
teristic of the Enghsli media:val system of appeals — the decinion 
of the Archbishop's Court was, as a rule, final. With ourselvee, 
iu any ^ven case, where a Spiritual Court superior to the Arch- 
bishop's does not exist, a priest may well be content to siifTer 
wrong for the truth's sake without himself appealing to a lay 
Court : or being himself taken before the Secular Final Court, to 
suffer wrong upon the appeal of others, He may elect tt> be 
governed by the decision of the liigbest Spiritual Court of Appeal 
to which he hae Rccese; and observe, without such a Court, a, 
Clrarch is deficient iu an essential element of spiritual jurisdlctiou. 
This is the true answei' to all taunts levelled against those wto' 
were content to abide under the legti! jurischcticju in eccIesin^^^H 


jBBea of a lay Court of Final Appt^al. It would have boon a 
rafficit'ntiuiRweriu regard to tilt! new Supreme Court, nf Appeal 
fiiT spiritual causes, had tUe Act of 1874 not been paBged. Hut it 
M nut now. In the former caso tho oler^y had a Bishop's Court 
iji which tu appcEir. They Imd an Arclibiehop's f.'omt to which 
to appeal. It' more was divided them, they suftuicd spii-itnal loes 
imleed, but not spiritual death. jViid tliia principle \va*apphcable 
to the old Court of Delegates, is applicable to the miyrv- modern 
Judicial Committee, and wnukl liavc been applicable to the new 
Siqireme Court, all of which Coui'ts of Final Apjieiil stand on the 
woe footing, and none of wliieli arc spiritual. But tlie prin- 
ciple can go nu further tlian the present. It cannot be applied in 
tilts future, in consequcuce of the cuactinent of the Public Woi-ship 
Kegulation Bill of 1»74. 

At the date at whicli, by a legislative blunder, the Judicial 

CftBunittee was, or was supposed to be. entinisted by Parliament 

witll final decisions on appeal in spiritual causes, Convocation wae 

forcibly silenced by the Stjite. This is important to be remcm- 

Wnxt Convocation was silenced also when the Church Discipline 

Act became law — the Act which regiilated ecclesiastical procedure 

imtil it reached ita final staj^e. In regard to these Acta of ParUa- 

oait, the priesthood of the Church of England of that day. 

lwt\Teeii fivi-aud-tliirty and five-and-forty years ago, cnuld not 

W credited with much pohtical foresight. They wei-c regardless of 

ihurcRulte which might flow from tlie acHou of legislation on Uio 

ChntcJi : and the results which actually flowed were wholly un- 

«ptict«d by them. Those clergy who were ordained before the 

BiUapaased the legislature, liad no representative Cliamber of their 

uwn to which to appeal. They were then the only class of 

Eugliah citizens. Jews alouc excepted — and they remain so still 

'nlliimt that exception— who were exchided from tlie assembly 

•hicli they were expected to obey. And tliose who were ordained 

lifter the Act« came into operation, were imconscious of the power 

"iiich would be claJnted by the State over the Church ; how such 

power would be made to boar on themselves ; how such power 

''tnild be made a foicrum for the exercise of fresh Bncroaehmenfj). 

loelinrt. Convocation was m abeyance, and ecclesiastical matters 

Aid not then attract the keen interest from mthout, nor the jealous 

«mtiny from within, tliat they secure at present. The clergy 

"niairtered as of old, or were newly ordained, in simple faith that 

fiiey were at liberty to rainiater " tlie doctrine and sacraments 

■oil the discipline of Christ, as the Lord hath commanded, and 

« this Church and Rwalm hath received the same." 

But it is citlierwise now. Convocation is no longer gagged. 
It W bfcn revivified. It is iu active operation, though it is far 
frwo hdng re-organized. Thf clergy have caught the spirit of 



the age. lii thoir measure thi;y havi? bet-orae oiitically ali^^MfST 
their pri^'ilegQB as an oi-dar, to their rights as citusencit and to 
their iii6uence a» a, furcc in the Statt'. Men cHiuiot enter t^e 
priesthnod unoonsciotis of, or remain in it unaffected by, the 
fact tlutt. in spite of the reiuonatranee of one Clmmber of the 
spiritualty, aud that tlie repreeeiitative Chamber, the lUtconBti- 
tutional diareganl of both HouseB of Convocation liaa resiiltod in 
this cafa»ti'ophe — that the State alone lias legislated for tha 
Chmch '■ as this Cliurch and Realm hath not received the same." 
What aiiswfr will the Chiu-ch make to the World upon thiB count t 
Will it passively accept the legislation, or activL>ly oppose it % One 
considerution ought to have weight. Oui- decision will aSt^fi the 
Church of the future, whether we are true or false to our prin- 
ciples at this crisis. 

There is a fm-ther difference between recent ecclefiiastical legis- 
lation and the legislation to which wo, as clcrgj', have ^ven our 
assent by entering the priesthood of the Established Cliurcli. This 
difference is obWoua over and above tJie fact thnt Convocation 
was in abeyance at an earlier date ; and remains after wo have 
been pronounced credulous, uii-critical, sliort^eighted, or stupid. 
It is obscured or muiimized by those who, migeuorously not leas 
tlian ineffectively, would elevate our silent concurrence witli the 
past into a precedent for inaction now, or couiphance in th« 
future. But tiiore is a point of endurance at which a worm will 
turn. Speakhig in general terras, though deSnit*; language miglit 
be employed, modem legislation in ecelcalastical caiiHes ha* pro- 
duced two results. First ; leaWng untouched the ancient mode of 
procedure and appeal, in Courts of first instance and firet appeal. 
Parliament legislated on and altered the Court of Final Appeal. 
This change was made in the ycara 1832 and 1833. Second ; 
taking the Court of Final Appeal of its own creation as tbu 
standard of ecclesiastical procedure, Parharaent re-organized froni 
below a system of procedure and appeal, on the snmniit of whicli 
the Court now condemned was placed. This change was m.tde hi 
the year 1840. Now mark the difference. In both cases, although 
the last stage in the appeal for spiritual causes was of temporal 
authority only, the Archbishop's Court of First Appeal (the ArcheB 
or Chancorj- Court) escaped secular handling. It was esteetned 
too venerable, if not too sacred, to be lightly deprived of its pre- 
rogative and power. In both cases, again, the Episoopal Coarts 
of first instance (the Diocesan Courts) were maintained in t^eir 
relative pomtiou, either in complete or partial uitegrit^'. It waa 
folt by legislators even thirty yeara ago that Courts which had 
prescriptive legal rights of many centuries, and in essence were 
coeval >vith Christianity itself, ou^t not to be tampvred ^n^^ 
much Ices eu]>pre6sed at the will of the Kou^e of CJomraous il^^| 



rds, in spite of a lay Court of Final Appeal (which we 
tate BCMi to be a miBfortune, wot a crime ; to involve spiritiial Iosb, 
bnt not death ), the Chiirch still retained, nnder indirect Parlia- 
nwntary confinnation, her ConsiHtory Courte and her own Court, 
"f Appeal from 1832 to 1840. In spito of secular interference 
mth mere modes of procedure, which practically re-confirmed 
l^islaliyely all that it did not alter; in spite of Parliamentary 
legudatiuu on the course and limit of appeals, the Church of 
Englaud still posfirssed Courts Christian preBJdfd over by her 
prolatws and ConrtB of appeal presided over by her primates, in 
erery diocese and in both provinces, fnim 1840 to 1874. Can the 
Ske he Raid now'* It cannot, with truth. For certain canaes 
Rpirituftl the Bishops' Conrts have been virtually abolished. For 
tveiy cBueo spiritual the Archbishops' Courts have been absolutely 
abolished. Bfith have been suppressed by the sole authority and 
power of Parliament alone. Both have been Bnppressed without 
ttie'«enseDt and against the will of the Church, Is it too much 
to ttCBnn of the measure which produced these remdts, that it has 
effected a revDlution ? The Public Worship Regulation Act lays 
»8ini and broad foundation for the future Disestablishment of the 
Chnrch t>f England. 

In 1874 came the change which materially affect* our poBition 
welergy of a Church oetahlishod by law. who arc also priests hi 
the (%Tirch of God. The change is one which certainly has 
iltered the legal status of the Chnrch in this eountiy in regard to 
itelf, and must alter its corporate relations with the State. Per- 
Mp9 no agitation from without, on the part of the Liberation 
Soriety, has caused ench a shock both to those relations and tn 
tliit Status as the convulsion fi-om within, at the will of Parliament. 
It » no exaggf-ratii'Ti to say, that many a staunch and respectable 
wdefwwtic, not to speak of a large following of the faithful laity, 
liBi been converted to opinions which others have been maKgned 
for wivocaring a little too early in the day. By the change which 
W BBmed from this act of legislation, from a belief in the iminn of 
CKureh and State, they now perceive the absolute necessity of 
> »T«Taneo between Church and State, For. to speak again in 
gsiiemi tei-ms, the change was this : Whilst adliering to a final 
»lip(«l to the Crown in Council — though in what form the Act is 
(lEnnoiwly silent — the leg^lation of 1874 produced two results, 
■""fk iif which are mibverBivo of the first priueiplos of the faith, 

Pintiy : For certain spiritual causes it fnvept away every vestige 
w^Awftpal juriedietiun which had time-honoured sanction from 
y* W. It (Enacted (the iiiuler must forgive the repetition) that, 
jnwHih ca«ea, the jtirisdiction of each of tho twenty-eight prelates 
f" tis own diocese to try apiHtnal causes in the firat instance 
sliMilij \-irI.n(iHy ceane, Thiw, nf conree. involved the correlative 
L 2 



enactment tliat the clergy were to the like extent removed t'nay 
tlie Bpiiitual juiisdiction of their le^tiraate superiors in the Omrch. 
Moi-eoverit niled that, in tlje place of the Bpiritiialty deciduig 
sj)iritual 8iiit«> a secular "permin" should adjiidJcato up 
things of God. 

Secondly : Iii every spiritual cause Parliament swept ai 
right of appeal to the ancient and legitimate Provincial 
of the Archbishop. It enacted that the individual and pereoual 
jurisdiction of the two primates in their own provinces, to hear 
spiritual appeals from the Couiis of their suffragans, should abso- 
lutely cease. Moreover it ruled tliat, instead of ecclesiastical lawa 
being administered by ecclesiastical judges, " the judge " under tho 
authority alone of the temporal power — any barrister of ten years' 
standing at the least, and appointed in the last resort by the Crown 
— should preside over both Courts of appeal. In the place, there- 
fore, of the old system of jurisdiction which, with move or less 
exactness, has obtained iu England from the introductiou of 
Christianity, and was preserved throughout the alterations effected 
from 1832 to 1840, a system novel iu itself, without precedent, 
without example, equally mikuowu to canon and civil law, equally 
foreign i-o all recognized jurisprudence in Christendom — haa been 
forced upon the spiritualty by the will and pleasure of the tem- 
po ralty alone. 

This is tlio revolution in Chui-ch and State which has been 
c-ftected by the Public Woisbip Regulation Act. 

At the expense even of repetition, it is needful on behalf of the 
cause pleaded for to state these points with all possible clearaesa. 
It is necessary for two reasons. 1. Because, both in and out of 
ParUament, members of the legislature have allowed themselvea to 
say, that the New Act uierely simplifies procedure in eccleaiaBtical 
matters; whereas, in tnith, it is legally destmctive of spiritual 
jurisdiction. 2. Because, even amongst our frionds some are 
sufficiently credulous towards a transparent inaccuracy to accept 
this lame excuse for tampc-iing with liisine tliiugs; whereaft, 
to judge of the offence by the position nf the offtuded, n humble 
apology is due. with immediate satisfaction, to an outraged 
Church. If any point has been proved in the above pagaiv- 
tluH, that the exercise of lawful spiritual jurisdiction haa bee 
pressed in the Church of Ohwst by the temporal power al<me>| 
■A Churchman, nay to a Christian who has any belief in the 
natuml and its revelation to men, this suppression involvoa i 
tioH of Jirtt principies in the Catholic Kaith. To him. and ei 
imprejudiced men outride the Church, the witlidrawal of ji 
tion is more tlian a aimpUjication of procedure. Indeed such lai; 
in the eai-s of either sounds like a deliberate misappUval 
terms. Th'j requirements of place and power may iiec« 



verbal sophistiy, But we need not dispute over language. It i« 
no qncfltiou of logoniBchy. Facts, not words, are what we de- 
notmoe. It is tie fact of the abolition of legal jurisdiction of 
which we ("omplain, not the language employed to convey this 
Aiet. If forced to use, in a non-natural sense, wliich one at least 
of thiwe who press this argument has in former days condemned, 
the technical jargon of the Courts, we ^vill say that tlie 6o-callod 
"Kiraplifieation of procedure" in spiritnal matters by the secular 
power alone involves a "violation of first principles." And we 
naif. witJi confidence in the answer of all true Churchmen, and of 
all fonastent Nonconformists — Ought we to obey the Xew Cniirt 
which by Act of Parliament " simplifies " away the " principles " of 
the Catholic Faith 1 

For instance : 1. It is said by those accoimted as friends of the- 

Choreh — Yes : It is true, that the New Act creates a new Court, 

with a new judge and a new method of procedure ; and that the 

authority of all — procedure, jndge, Court, and Act— are based 

npiin the authority of the House of Commons. But still, it is yet 

poffiible that thp cause may be conducted under the directions of 

the old procedure. It is possible to appear before the old judge, 

and to be convicted or acquitted by the old Court ; in other 

wards, to be prosecuted under the Church Discipline Act instead 

of under the Act of 1874. To this argument the rejoinder is 

oWioUB. If the apologist for the suppression or abolition of the 

Clmreh Courts by the Stat<> affinns that the victim of pereecution 

Mil ttxcrctse a choice, imder which form of procediuxs his enemy 

tliall attack him, then, the plea may be admitted. But, if the 

rfmii'i- reets, as it practically does rest, not with the defendant, but 

ifith the prosecutor, then, the plea is fallacious. 

!. It will be more respectful to the office of the one, and more 
niidctit in regard to the position of the other, if the present writer 
•piotM without remark the words of two persons of exalted rank 
TO", in this matter, can hardly be accounted our friends. The 
Tmicns of both are concisely stated in the pithy language of the 
Wiop (Fniser) of Manchester, in a speech before the Diocesan 
Synod, November 2(ith, 1874, " that by this Act, tJie law of the 
tWcli of England, whatever that was, had not been touched in 
"Oe jo| tir tittle." This exhaustive statement is a short, and easy 
mttiiod of si-ttling the argument. The Archbisliop (Tait) of 
tiuilerbury and an ex-Lord Chancellor (Selbome) have also pro- 
!"'un«;(l Mpon the point. In his speech at the Diocesan Con- 
itfeuco at Maidstone, held early in the present year, an accoimt of 



8 in the Gvardicni of February 3rd. the Archbishop ii 

f^Purtcd to have said : " The bimkum which was talked about a 
'"■■•y'^nnleaii measure, which he had the honoiu* of proposing in 
tile Upper House of Parhamont, produced" the idea that there was 


a greater dislike of obeying the law than really exifitecL His sole 
object in proposing that measure was to obtain a quiet and expe- 
ditious and inexpensive way of having the existing law obeyed-** 
The Archbishop adds, in words which, if not misreported, contain 
a nah'e admission of truth : " It was thought, and not unnaturally^ 
that there was more in the Bill than this." Lord Selbome writes 
thus, in a letter which was published in the TvineB : " The Bill 
will, if it passes, be merely a measure for shortening and simplify- 
ing to a certain extent the legal procedure in a certain class of 
cases now cognizable under the present cumbrous procedure of 
the Ecclesiastical Courts." Lord Selbome adds : <' All such enact- 
ments as to procedure in ecclesiastical causes have, from the 
Reformation downwards, been made by Parliament." Competent 
authorities have pronounced that Mr. Giindle's historical de- 
moUtion of this statement, in the pamphlet above quoted, is 
complete. If answemble, it has been unanswered. Pending any 
reply, one would be tempted to inquire of either of these eminent 
men in Church and State : If the effect of the New Act constitutes 
a change of procedure only, what would constitute a change of 
principle 1 

We shall be able, perhaps, better to reaUze what changes have 
been wrought in our system of ecclesiastical juiisdiction, if we call 
to mind how suits were conducted under the Church Discipline 
Act of 1840. The record of them will more clearly show whether 
we suffer now from a simplification of procedure, or from a viola* 
tion of principle. The hue of conduct which the Act prescribed 
was somewhat involved, and it is not easy to give an account 
of its action at once lucid and full. This confusion aiises from 
the discretionaiy power vested in the bishop and the alternative 
course which may be adopted, by either complainant or prose- 
cutor, at different stages of the suit. It will tend to perspicuity, 
if the discretionaiy powers on the one hand, and the alternative 
course on the other, be overlooked; and an average case be 
described. A beneficed clergyman commits an offence eccleedai 
tical within the range contemplated by the Church Discipline 
A complaint is lodged against liim before the bisliop of th« 
diocese. The bishop consents to investigate the complaini 
judicially and issues a Commission of Inciuirj'. The commiflmoi 
sits as a Com-t, hears coimscl, and reports to the bishop that 
is ground for further proceedings. Neither paiiy — and this 
hardly hypothetical — consents to abide by the decision of 
bishop ; and the case proceeds judicially. The bishop then heai 
the cause, tlie evidence being given upon oath, in his own Coi 
sistory Court, with the assistance of three assessors — one of whom.^ 
"shall have practised not less than five years in tlie Court of the-^ 
ArchbiKliop," to sccuro oa the l>ench one niomber at lecuat ^nth a — ■ 


of ecclefdastital law. In due course, sentence is pro- 

sd by tJic bisUop (tliw Act is uaieful to add), " according to 

Iccteeiastica] law." So ffir aB tlie diooeeo is concerned, the 

is tinislied. An nppoul in the first instance lies to the Arch- 

tp in the Arches Coiii-t. and from thence in tho last resort to 

iwn in C'owiici], and shall be heaid (the Act in again careful 

iiefore the Judicial Committee of the Pri\'y Council. 

present writer simply deseribes the order of piuccduio m it 

He offers no opinion ou the ecclesiastical aepett of (he 

trorkiog of tlie Church Discipline Act. A liberal iuti'iprcbitidn of 
the wording of one clause in tlie Act suffici'S to hriaig its pro- 
cedure into harmony with ancieut eccleeiastical precedent. The 
twiyity-tliird clause enacts that "no proceeding against a clerk in 
Holy Orders . . . shall he instituted in any Eccletdaetiual Court 
otb«rwi«c- than is hcreiubt^fore provided." This clause at least is 
pKtituit of. if it does not necessitate, a tuoaning wliich i\-ould make 
tlio Iworiug of tbo cause before the hisbop to take place in the old 
CouBiBtory (,'ourt of the dioceae. The cause may indeed bo heai-d 
tu euDM^ fxtt'tit diflevently in detail, bnt still it ie to be heard iu 
the same Kcclesiiistical Oouit. Li otlier words, the procedure is 
cbutged, but the principle remains unaltered. On the other 
liaitd, the Mew Act, before it ie enabled to legislate according to 
thtt requirements of its promoters, is forced to anticipate a pro 
titBiuarj' objection. It rules, by clause four, that " proceedings 
taken under tliis Act shall not bo deemed to be such proceedings 
«eftre mentioned" in the above-named clauae in the Church Dis- 
dpUne Act. This disavowal aeenis to point to mon.' than a 
cbauge only of procedure. The Public Worship Regulation Act 
aWilutely sweeps away the identical spiritual Courts which the 
Uiurch Discipline Act specially confirmed. If tliis he a simplifica- 
tion of procedure, it is one wliich cannot be distinguished from a 
ndttioa of principle. Two points, however, are beyond dispute 
ia tlie working of the Church Discipline Act. In the first place, 
loiifcr itK provisions, it wa« possible for a priest to be tried and to 

Md himself in tlie Diooesan Court of his own bishop. And in 
leotid place, it was competent for him to appeal, and to abide 
I appeal, to the Pioviooial Court of his archbishop, 
Ut «0 far as a clergyman was concenied, justice might be 
1 one Kcelesiastical Court and an appeal lay to another. Bc- 
yond tliia point a priest need not proceed : and rL'stuig there ho 
**yoyed die like privileges in trial aud appeal that the English 
'^gy of the middle-ago Church enjoyed, neither more or less, from 
flie t«-elfih to the sixteenth century. Neither Court, indeed, as a 
'•ct, txactly corres|)ondcd ■with the ancient Courts Chiistian. In 
•tottew tif detail aud procedure, or ui le^timate descent, or in 
'I'lortiiiU of appeal, the existing Courts were not identiually at one 



with tlieir predecessors. But so far as tUey tlid represent the 
Courts whose name they bore — aud that waa sufficient to satisTy 
many holy and learned men, ami is infinitely more than tlie new 
Court and jndge ean pretend to — the elorgy and laity alike were 
free to use them, were free to be tried by them, were free to appeal 
to them and from tJiem. 

But for certain cnusee thia freedom of priest and people in the 
first instance has been virtually snpprensed, and in the case nf 
appeal has been absolutely abolished. The faithful laity can im 
longer bring to justice the unfaithful clergy before their common 
ecclesiastical superior. The priesthood can no longer defend 
themselves from the interested attacks of a Society, of doubtfnl 
legahty and undoubted powers for mischief, in the Court of their 
bishop ; can no longer appeal to tlie Court of their archbishop. In 
behalf of this enforced powerlessiress, it is insufficient to say that 
practically the Diocesan Courts were unused, aud the Arches 
Court had become a Court of first instance. At the most, this only 
meets half the difficulty ; it does not touch the abohtion of the 
Provincial Courts of appeal. At the least, in regard to the Dioci— 
sau Courta, the Report of Convocation furnishes one reply to the 
argument from practical inaction : let the ConsiBtory Courts be re- 
formed, not suspended. To abolish the Bishops' Courts because thoy 
are iu abeyance, is to (indorse the maladministration of ecclesias- 
tical law which ought to be amended. To consent to the deposi- 
tion of the bishop fiom hia own spiritual Court in favour of lay 
usurpation, is to abandon the first piinciples of Christian juris- 
prudeuce on the gi-omids of expediency only. The question is 
not whether of the two, the layman or the cleric, will judge most 
impartially : it is whether of the two is the right judge " as this 
Church and Realm hath received the same." In sliort, the prin- 
ciple, at once constitutioual and Christian, enunciated by Lord 
Coke, which, n-ith whatever partial obscuration, could be deci- 
phered hi the luics of the Cimrch Discipline Act, has been entirely 
obliterated by the Public Woralup Regulation Act. 

How does this New Act practically work 1 It works in two ways : 
first, in regard to the Court which takes the place of the twentj'- 
eight Diocesan Courts of firet instance : and secondly, in regard to 
the judge who fills the office (on a vacancy) held by Uie two pro- 
^-incial judges of first appeal. The earlier mode of action ia the 
oidy one which need be described at length, llie later method 
may be dismissed in a single period. Every cause which fonnerly 
came before the Court of Arches and the York Cliancery Court 
will henceforth (at the first vacancy) be decided in the new Coart 
by the new judge: evcrj- cause — aie/mling ijvesdom of dortrine. 
Taking the same average case as we traced in tlie CStOI^^ 
Difciplinp Act; and avoiding as before hotli dtwcrctionnrt* p04|H 


and altematiffe coutsob, in what position are the clergy placed in 
ntgard lo the exereise of occleeiaBtical jmisdiction at the present 
day f A beneficed clergyman conunitH an offence, or commits no 
offence aa the case may be, within the range contemplated by the 
ftiblic Worehip Koguktion Act. A complaint ia lodged against 
him by three parishioners (who for the purposes of prosecution 
are termed momberB of the Church of England) before the bishop of 
the dioceso. The bishop within one-and-tweuty days sends a copy 
of the complaint to the priest complained of. Within a further 
penod of onc-and-twenty days the clergj'raan — and tliis, again, is 
hardly hypothetical— declines "to submit to the directions of the 
bishop touching the matter of the said representation." Or if the 
pri«t consents, the promoter of the suit declines. The reasons 
trfiich may induce either promoter or defendant to declare hinoself 
oawilliiig tn submit, are not hard to imagine. Apart from all 
Ktcoudary and personal reasons the foUowing are valid : because 
thfliinhop is not authorized to hear tlif cause and to give judg- 
ment npon it in his own Diocesan Court, according to ecclesiastical 
Mage, but is empowered only to arbitrate privately upon the 
case ; because the judgment he gives ia prautically a private 
Mcpresfflon of individual opijiion, without any spiritual autho- 
rity whatever, without appeal in the cause in question, and 
witiiout influence in any other ; because, in opposition to the pro- 
tedare of the Church Discipline Act. which offers more chance 
Wh of equity and legality, the causu may be heard by the bishop 
slone, without the advice of a preliminary commission, without the 
srtnal co-ojipration of assessors leamed in Church law, without 
the arguments of counsel, wiHiout the evidence of witnesses; 
bt'Ciiuw! the procedure under this clause of the Act is utterly lax 
811(1 slovenly, the bishop beiug empowered "to hoar the matter 
■ . , in such manner as he shall see fit," perhaps in the epis- 
TOpsI dining room, and to " issue such monition as he may think 
proptT." poauibly the opposite of •' good and effectual in law," and 
iiol "according to ecclesiastical law." 

Tile prosecutor, or the prosecuted, or both, having decHued the 
mew arbitration of the bishop, the mystei-ious personage called 
"liie judge " appears on the scene. The mode of his appearance 
■* to irregular, accordmg to judicial usage whether civil or 
t^iJesiBfitical, as many other provisions of tliis eccentric Aot 
f I'ftrliftment, The non-legal mind would have supposed that, 
■f die arbitration of the bishop were declined, the bishop would be 
'""J proper State official to call to Iiis aid the superior powers of 
Ifl" secular judge. Here we meet with what seems to be another 
inrtancv of the carelessness with which the Bill was drafted, or the 
™*te in which if. was amended, or the inconsideration with wliich 
it Wm eoiiccircd — inescuHable in any case — for the bishop, whoso 



DjacefittU Court has been nsiiipwl, is not the leguJ ofliwial' to 
auuuuoii tile secuhti' judge, who is intruded iiitu \m eacre^ uffice. 
Ked-tapeituu requires a uiediaiu betwetsa the uiritcopul victiia uid 
the lay pretender. Wlietlier nr not this may be an effort to 
Hecaie eGcle«ia*tioaI centr«liK)i,tiyn, the result ia the witije. The 
bishop luovcG the arohhishop : and the archbtshnp moves the 
judgo : and; the judge heare the matter "iu auy place," uithiu 
iicrtaiu limits, moet coDvenient to himself. In coiiipanj with the 
judge appeal's the not le*6 mystierious sphere irf liis hiboaret 
teniied in the Act, " opon Court." A " Provincial Court*' " judge, 
apparently on the authority of the Act of Parlifiment, even though 
there be no vacancy in the otHce of f/ie judge of either the Pro- 
vincial Courts of Canterbury or York, the judge must be caUed. 
But even so august au authoiity fails to cvEiate a uamv' for the 
"opon Court" in whicli " thw judge" eits. Spealdng ectileeiaetically, 
it clearly is not the Canterbuiy Court of Arches, for causes from 
the Archdioct'Be of York may be taki-n before it. It is aot the 
Chancerj' Com-t of York, for the Archbishop of Cautorbury may 
join in the appointjnent of the judge. Still leae is it a Diocesan 
Court, even though the cause tiiktu hef(tre it ia etrictly dioeoson \ 
for no appeal lies to the avohbiBhop, and tlie bishop of the diocee^ 
the victim of hiy judicial inti-uBiou, is an otBcial whu ia powcrlfew 
even to demand the aid of the judge who has imurped «piBcopal 
jurisdiction. As the learned editor of the " Handy-boob of the 
Public Worship EegiUation Act" temely expresses it, the reform 
effected by the measure " sweeps away the unsatisfactory mid 
dilatory pn-ccssee of tlie Diiwesau Courts." But whatever title 
may hereafter be assigned to the nameless Court, the issuus tif ijio 
'Cause uow rest in the hands of the judge with nupreced«ntod titlo 
who presides in it^ Iu due time the spiritual cause is heard by tho 
lay judge, and a secular judgment is pronoiuiced on a spiritual 
mattfr. An appeal from the judgment Ues to the Crown in 
Council, though in what form the Act is discreetly sileut. This is 
a sketch of the way in which' the Now Act of 1874 will work in 
ecclesiastical causes. 

These eliauges ui oiu" system of ecclouastical jurisdiction, it is 
submitted with confidence, are changes in principle and not only 
in procedure. So far as our argument is concerned, tlie variations 
effected by tlie Act of 1874 are variations ui both procedure niid 
princijlle from civil law which gave statutable authority to canon 
law. They tlirectly clash with the provisions of tlie Act of 1840. 
They are at issue with tho Acts of 1832-38. Thoy are liostile to 
the spirit aiid Icttor of far eurhi-r uouhrmations of ecclesiastical 
process by tlje secular power. As tins paper deals with the pr ac- 
tical aspect aloue of recent legislatiou, it may bo eauugh to^jdM 
that the PubUc Worship Itegulation Act violates the ^^^^| 



H?tich baB obtaiued in the English Keaha and Caim-cli fioiii time 
inuoemoriol. It vioIateB the ej-stem handed down, even in a par- 
tiallj mutilated foDD yet so far ooufirmod, by the Act which oi-eated 
the Jndicial Committee. Itviohites tiie ey«tcm hniided down, even 
if unwarrantably uxtfiided, yut »o far confirmed, by the Act 
vhich (jrEAted the Court of Deitgatee. It v-ioUrtee the system 
HCCepted by Church and State as tlie exponent of both priuciple 
and pmotice of Ciuiou Law in even earlier ages by Magnn Gltarta 
uul ihe CojiBtituticins of Clareudon, which were continued again 
aud 4£;ain ia the reigus of EiteceAsive sovereigue. In a century 
impatient of the claima of antiquity, it is ueedless to traee the 
conrac fif ecclesiastical jniisdietion above the date of 1164, The 
eftrli«fit esdstiiig charter of tbti Chmch's rights howorer, was iiot 
legislative in character, but declarative of a systeai which waa 
tbsn time-hoiioured and respected by the civil power. By iho 
EightU of the Constitutions of Clarendon, to quote a living authority 
(Mr. Joyce, in, his " Civil Power iu iia reliitiyns to tiie Church") 
" we 6eu that as now (the final resort excepted) thw finst stop was 
from the art^hdeacon to the bieliop ; the second, from the bishop 
Ui tlie urcbhiftiiop ; and tliirdly, for lack of justice before the 
uohfaifthop, rocouree might be liad to the king, by whose orders 
tfce oontruii'erHy was to be JimiUi/ gettkd in die Aidtbi^hof^g Court ; 
md neither iHWty might move for any further remedy without 
Wvc from the Crown. i.e. neither might appeal to Home from the 
ArcLhisliop's Court without Boyal pennisBiom" : 

This is tliB s^-Etem which has practically been the law of the 
Cliutch, eaiictioned by the State, for countless genenrationa, . It 
i» Irac that, in the reign of Hemy VilL, the Court of Dole- 
gates was et-tabliebed which is supposed to have regulated the 
MiiiTO of final appeal Ui a lay Cuurt of Parliamentary crea- 
tion. It is true, also, that in tht ragn of William IV, the Court 
of Uie Judicial Committee was <-stablith(;d, wliich inherited all the 
powers statutably conferred on tlio Coui-t of Delegates. But 
■l i« arguable — and if it may be penuittod to refer to the 
Wntcr's own words, it has been shown in a pamphlet entitled 
^^^ficular Judgments in Spiritual Matters" (]^1a8ters) — that it is 
^^HnOy doubtful if the Court of Delegates was intended, or possessed 
^^^Hnlable power, to decide spiritual cases ui the last appeal. It 
^^^■D historical fact that duruig a career of tliree centuries, for 
^^^B first 15ti years of its existence, no purely spirituiil cause was 
^^^Bb^t before it, and for the last 142 years none was decided by 
^^^P'la short, the Act of Henry, if not intentionally of a provisional 
^^^ptscter. was, hke the Act of Victoria, a legislative miscarriage, 
^^Holitical blunder. K this be more than arguable, the Judicial 
^^^Ktnutteo, which only inherits the statutable powers of the Court 
^^^Wtdegat«8, can lawfully decide in the lust resort on questions 


only which are ecclesiastical in character, and not spirituaL But, 
whether or not this may be proved, the earlier course of appellate 
jurisdiction from the bishop to the archbishop which has remained 
intact, as statute law of England for upwards of seven centuries^ 
and which then had a prescriptive right of at least five centuries 
more, has now been arbitrarily altered without the consent and 
against the will of the Church, by the sole authority of the temporal 
power. In such a case as this, the question once more forces itself 
upon conscientious and loyal Churchmen, and specially upon the 
clergy who believe in the spiritual jurisdiction of the Church of 
Christ — Ought we to obey the New Court in Spiritual Causes? 

This question must now be answered. The reader will remem- 
ber that one line of argument, the practical, has alone been 
followed in the present paper. If only a portion of what has 
been urged against the New Act can be maintained, there can be 
no doubt of the reply which must be given. As no valid objec- 
tion can be raised against the argument in its main features, any 
difiTerence of opinion on minor points may be ignored. On this 
broad basis the writer takes his stand, whether as Churchman or as 
citizen. In the latter position he sees that the State has practically 
abolished the legal jurisdiction of the English Episcopate which 
the bishops have enjoyed, with the consent of the law, from time 
immemorial. In the former, he believes that the Church has there- 
by been practically deprived of rights, the exercise of which are 
essential to a full adherence to the first principles of the Christian 
Faith. Both positions are combined in the case of a clergyman 
of the Established Church. He is forced, as a matter of conscience, 
to form an opinion and to come to a decision. As the question 
ultimately resolves itself into one of obedience to God or man, 
the writer can only, with much diffidence, yet with all earnestness, 
make answer that, We cannot recognise the new judge, we ought 
not to obey the New Court, created by the authority of the Public 
Worship Regulation Act. 

Orby Shipley. 

l ^^^fi:g<--J-^^cDlg^^il^g^ 


THiOPHILE SILVESTRE. iii Lis ■' Shidies of Living Painters," 
pabliehcd in 1856, reports a remark uttered by Corot in the 
ptesence of a picture by Delacroix. " Ceefc un aigle," said the 
ludBcape painter " et je ne euis qu'une alouette, je pouBse de 
petiles chansons dans tnes nuages giie." The sentence contains a 
Boggeative truth concerning tlie nature of Corot's gifta in art. 
"Mes nuages gris" is recognizable as a rough but fit description 
of the painter's domain in nature, and the quahficatioo of hia 
paiuting as a lyric note sent fortli from this domain has a precise 
■nd real significance. No criticism of Corot's work can be com- 
plete, or even vital, which does not take account of these two 
fOalitieB — the one essential, the other belonging to his chosen 
*>"BtMD of artistic expression. For at siglit of a picture by Corot, 
the dominion of tlio clouds is the first thing noticeable. He hira- 
f^\i, it ia said, began each picture mth the painting of the sky ; 
**»ci it is certain that from this point the spectator is compelled to 
"Cgiii liig survey. To the aky and its influence all common facta 
•** landscape are made subject. If there is a pool of water, its first 
'tliiclion is to image the fleeting foi-ms and uncertaui colours of 
"*-<s heavens. The grass at our feet loses its hues of vivid green, 
•^«3 becomes pale to whiteness in obedience to the fleecy clouds 
"^at whiten the sky. The forms of trees and the outlines of 
^tant hills are held imprisoned in a mysteiy of delicate light and 
, and even (he reroott- blue of the sky beyond the 



cloudfi loees its mtenaity, and beccrnies faint aud pali.i as it piateF 
under tlie coufrol of •• mea noageB gria." And ha\Tng recognized 
thifi constant aspect of Corofs paintmg, we arn hft to eeek it8 
motive. Of what service to the painter are these forms that ad- 
vance and recede, now penetrating the substantial air eo far aa to 
become half-distinct and tangible ehajjes of nature, and again 
retreating till they are no more than mere vagiio symbula in a 
world of shifting lights and shadows'! For what purpose does he 
thus summon those shapes into momentary existence, leaving all 
else concealed .' and of what beauty are the songs of which these 
are the few stray notes ? 

Dealing for the moment only with the method of the painter, 
and considering his work aa the latest pliase of landscape art, it is 
remarkable how strong is the contrast of this with all earlier 
ideals. In the landscape painting of the early Italian paint«ts 
nothing is willingly left imtold, for the pauiter's aim is a precise 
and faultless definition of all that comes within his reach. The 
sky ia clear, and against it the leaves of the trees and the forms of 
the hills weave an ordered pattern. There is selection but no sup- 
pression of tnith. The harmony of colour is made «p of a number 
of positive tints, each faithful to nature, and all in beautiful agree- 
ment. Here it is not only the scene that fascinates antl attracts 
but all the materials that compose the scene. We know by tJie 
faultless imagery that the painter has loved and known the beauty 
of separate flowei's, the individual growth of each single tree, the 
tracery and network of leaves that preserve their native intensity 
of green. The hght serves to reveal all these things, aud there- 
fore it ia beautiful : wind and storm only disfigure the exquisite 
pattern of the landscape, and lience are to be avoided by the 
painter. The influence of the clouds, if it were admitted, would 
destroy the natural brightness of grass and leaves and tiowers ; 
in mist the firm lines would lose their sharpness, the whole 
Rcheme of the design be lost. And thus for the earlier painter the 
oven sunlight of noonday, when the landscape is still and sharply 
seen, is the best season for hia art. Next come the lights of 
evening or early dawn, bnt never the seasons of conflicting cloud 
and changing light. This is altered a little, bnt only a little, in 
the landscapes of Titian. The interpretation of scenery is moved 
one point further from abstract beauty. Titian's spirit ia the 
spirit of portraiture, and liis treatment of natiu-e. aa his treat- 
ment of men and women, was baaed on the desire of faitlifnl 
portraiture, \Vith Lionardo and Raphael, men in whom imagina- 
tion still guided and controlled execution, landscape retaified its 
abstract and imchanging character. But Titian, as ho refined 
less upon the typfe of the human model before him. so also 4ie 
refined less upon the types of natural scenery. In lu8'M|ti| 



poetical comptisitionB he is eomethiiig of a roalist, and we arc- 
it lehnre to turn from the beauty of the design to omi the 
mglio truth of liis flesh tints. And the spirit of realiBtic por- 
tmitore he carried into the treatment of landBcitpc an well as of 
iinmaii form. The flowers of the foreground aro still rc-preeented 
Bitli the feeling of a master of design, but the general aspect 
of the landscape suggests not only the likeness of a single scene, 
but sIbo of a single hour of the day. The earlier design, with 
dita exactness and precision, did not bo forcibly impress us with 
the conviction that the scene before us ia one chosen out of 
miay: it was more abstract, for all its minute detail, than these 
leas certain visions of blue hill and sunlit water tiiat make up the 
dirtuices of Titian's pictures. 

In tlie work of Titian the modern ideal takes its birth. The 
rtady of realistic landscape hsis bepjun. and already the painter 
pereeiTeB tJie dramntio movement of nature and its infinite variety 
sTchangvi^ appearances. Jnnt as a face changeR from passion to 
melancholy, and from laughter to tears, so the enduring oliaraoter 
"fa scene may be merged in its tUflbrtnt moods as it paaaes 
tmdcr the influence of cloud and sunshine and wind and storm. 
TliB bright green of the grass may take a Binister hua as a i-ain- 
clood darkens the sun ; the oven grace of the forms <A trees 
UB^ grow tmnnltuous in the presenoo of a powerful breeze. 
'&»e rapid aiterimtions in th(^ aspect of natural BC(.-nery are the 
opporhaiitica of the modem painter. From Titian to Turner the 
JiHtance may be measured. There are all shades of increasing 
fidelity to this particular kind of truth, but the diflFerenco between 
oae painter and another is only of degree. I say from Titian to 
Tamer, bnt it must be remembered that it is oidy on one side of 
TumerB art that he belongs to the raodom school of landscape : 
on another he is still eeeldug to realize tlio abstract beauty of 
MtBro. Whore he fai' '. it is from the conflict of the two ideals. 
A more complete oxpon--ut of the modem spirit may be found ui 
(Wtable, and from Constable the trauKitiou to the landscape 
pfiioteni of France is ea«y and natural. 

Bnt although the French landscape painters acknowledge the 
poffw fif Constable's work, and even admit its guidance, the dis- 
HOotion between men like Constable and Corot is important. The 
*rt of tlie English painter, though it employs all the moods of 
"•tow), employs them in a way that is essentially dramatic. We 
^ not receive from any of liis pictures the impression of a distinct 
Phonal sentiment in tJie mind of the painter. All the powers of 
™ air are admitted to set the landscape in motion, but the artistes 
obaerration is still fresh and unprejudiced in its sympathy, and the 
partitukr moment chosen for artistic cxpi^ession is like a moment 
i-'hoiQn from a drama where the passion, tliough strong and eiier- 



getic, isnot the passion of ihe author. Every picture froifl!^^ 
hniid recordB eomo sudden concord iii the tilings of outward uature 
— some moment when bright blue sky and drifting cloud, the hues 
ijf running water and the restless brauchee of blown trees, meet to 
register a phase of fleeting beauty. And aa a result of tins impar- 
tial selt^ctiou from the moods of landscape, tlie first aud most 
impressivo quality of Constable's work is the fidelity of the portrai- 
ture. True to a land where fair aud foul weather come in rapid 
succesaioii, his landscape is neither over-bright nor over-gloomy. 
If we carry away from his pictures the remembrajjce of heaiy 
clouds and advancing shadows, we may also recall the sharp 
grf en of leaves dancing in sunshine, and spaces of sky of bright 
and laughing blue. The brightncBs is no longer the bright- 
ness of the earher painters because it belongs to a single moment 
and is not of thf enduring character of the scene. And in 
this truth of the moment, in the impression of movement and 
progress, as of drama, lies the strength of Constable's art. The 
facte of scenery merely as such are neglected or suppressed. No 
one would seek from the painter of the "Cornfield" or the "Leap- 
ing Horse " an exact imitation of separate flowers, or a precisu 
outline of the leaves that seem to rustle itt each passing breezo. 
It is no longer the scene itself, but the appearance of tlie Bceue a^ 
it yields to passing influences of weather, that the paintur strivte 
to inteipret ; and it is his pereeptiou of the appropriate colonr of 
each changing aspect, whether of gloom or gladness, that gives 
to his work its unapproached mfrit. 

But the later school of landscape, as represented with so mucli 
fascination by Corot, goes further than tliis. To nudprstaud thf 
distinctive quality of his work, we must recall his own plu-ase : — 
"Jenesuisqu'imealouette; je pousse depetitfs chansons dans mes 
nuages gris." The art is no longer dramatic, it no longer i-egisters 
Avith impartiality the changing moods of weather, taking the 
grave and the gay as they alternate in the actual world. If theee 
men were poets instead of painters, we should denote the distinction 
by saying that it was an exchange of the dramatic for the lyrical 
faculty ; and even in painting these words will serve for a symbol 
of what we moan. Using this symbol, then, as Corot himself tised 
it, the fitness of his own description of his art becomes very e%-i« 
dent. His pictures are in reality songs sent forth from the grey 
clouds that overspread the world of his art. For, to tui-n lo the 
firet appearance of Co rot's pictures, what is it that most distinguishea 
them .' As compared with Constable's painting thore is every- 
where a failure of local colour. The harmony of colour, not less 
perfect, b reduced to narrower dimensions ; the separate incidents 
of each scene, grass and flowers, trees, and the sky itstslf, saciiiico 
^■MMUJHir individual <.'hii racter, and tiike a tone e 



tt^mSF^ereaaaL As compared with early repreBeutations of 
landscape, these pictures may be loughly said to have the qualities 
that belong also to Constable ; there is in both the record of 
weather as a principal agent in controlUng the appearance of the 
scene, and in both the consequent neglect of precise form and 
minute dutaik of colour. But in comparison with Couetable 
lumsclf, new ftattires are revealed in Curot's art. We detect at once 
Uie source and tho expression of tlit- French painter's originality, 
we recognize the freshncas and distinction of his attitude towards 
nature. Still keeping to the criticism of liis technical method, it 
may bo observed how marked ia the uicrcased ijnportance given to 
the oao of tone. At the first eiglit, Corot's works scarcely suggest 
the presence of colour! all tints are so far subdued that we 
ttcognizc Hcarccly moit- than their agreement on some neutral 
ground of grey. On the side of form a similar tendency is mani- 
fest. Constable's drawing of a tree is precision itself, compared 
with what serves for drawing in Corot ; his definition of a scene 
iifiill and exact by the side of the French painter's timid and 
tmnulons outlijieB. that lose themselves in a pale uncertain sky. 
And when those appeai'ances in Corot's painting are taken in con- 
uotioii with the effect they are intended to produce, it is seen at 
once that they are deliberately given, and are not the results of 
wdennees or imperfect resource. Outward nature to him is a 
tDcuu of expressing himself. Constable perceived and interpreted 
tbe dmma of wind and clouds, of siui and shadow. But to Corot 
thne changing aspects of tlie earth are serviceable only as inter- 
JiBt«iB of diitcrcnt phases of personal emotion. The artist 
oqtloja the moods of nature as a musician employs the notes of 
Kinoij, and invests the facts of scenery with particular sentiments, 
cIOT^g them with the colour of his own tlioughts. It is 
W&Qse this pui-pose is the controlling element in his art that hia 
pictares of scouery, merely as pictures, are permitted to be imper- 
f«t. From a single scene he selects only a few of the features 
important to his design — the rest are left half-concealed or wholly 
Wdden. And with this desire to select a few things out of many, 
'o wamnon here and there as he wills the shapes and colours of 
"10 OBrth, the presence of atmosphere, and the constant control of 
■MW and cloud, are valuable assistants. Behind these clouds the 
l^iiikcape reats under the dominion of the painter. \Vhat he 
iwdi for the tlionght he would express may be brought into 
^»— all else may be suppressed without loss of natural truth ; 
"Ttlie changes of atmosphere afford all degrees of distinctneas, 
*iidthe painter familiar with all may choose what he will. 

Flora the final iniprefision given by Corot's painting we may 
'"ni for a moment to tho actual facts of his career. Even in the 
*We of artists eudowed with tlic strongest originaUty, the product 
VOL \%Sl. JI 



boars iracee of early tmining as well as of individual impnlmi^^flS 
witli respect to Corot there are cort«iii tUiiigB that can only be 
c-xplaiiiod by a i-efereiice to the influencoB by which ho was sur- 
rounded in his youth, Boni in Paris on the 29th of July, 1796, 
Jcah-Hu|itistc-CamiUe Corot carat- of an humble stock. HtH father 
was a Rhopman, his mother a milliner, and the artist hituselT waa 
at firrft apprenticed to a woollun-draper hi the Rug St. Honoi'^ 
But the higher talent quickly assorted itself ; Corot stuihud his art 
firet in Becret, afterwards openly, and fijiaUy he was placed iu the 
studio of IkUehallon. a painter mthout great gifts, and thoroughly 
hifected with the principles of the historical sohool of Undsoape 
painting. M, Paul Mantz has admirably and humorously ex- 
pressed the traditiims of tliis school, and its attititde towards the 
things of nistic life. Speaking of tlie accepted type of peasant 
»t the time, he says, " It is a performer from the Op^ra Comiquo 
who approaches with liis hands full of flowera to warble some 
deUcate romance, or, if Greuze is to be believed, it is a sentinjcn- 
tahst who has had dLsagreeraents witli his family, who has read 
Didei-ot, and who makes grandiose mid emphatic gceturea," 
Michallon died, and Corot was transferred to the studio of 
Bertin, another professor of the grand style, whose system WM 
supposed to be founded on classic models. It is asserted, and 
probably with tnitli, that this early trauiiug under tlie ctassiciflt 
Bertin. left lasting traces upon Corot's art. Certainly it would bo 
difficult iu any other way to nccoinit for the constant recurrence 
to clasr>ic themes, and the fondness of the painter for introducing 
into a landscape beset with northern uiiste the figures of GrfMsiao 
nyinpliK If we suppose that he acquired this love of classic theinea 
from his master, it may bo very well understood how the seutiineiit 
was retained. Corot, ^vith all his originahty, was not a strong 
revolutionist ui art. His perception, tbougli true and dclicato, wag 
not cuffieiently profound to penetrate to the heart of liis subject, 
aud his imagination was scai-cely of the kind to remodel the whole 
material of liis art. To the end of his daj-a lie kept his fonduen 
for historical themes, aud he retained liia Grecian nyni]>hs aa ho 
had mherited them fi-om Bertin ; and to the thiugs which he thus 
possessed by accident he added his own discoveries in tho realm of 
nature. But, although the iTifluenoe of early training must have 
been considerable, Corot liimself was not ven,- sensible of it. " I 
had passed," ha says, in spealdng of his sojourn iu Italy, "two 
winters with M, Berlin, leaniiug so little that on arriving at 
Kome I cordd not complete tlie smallest sketch. Two men 
would stop to gossip together. I would attempt to draw 
them ill detail, beginning, say, with their heads ; tlwy 
separate, and I am left M-ith only two morsels on .agr.. 



nld bo seated 



dlflTcIt. I make a bt-ginning, the mother summons theiu, and 
raj" Bketcli-l;oolce would Ik' thus left full of the eiida of nosen and 
tnwtcfl tif hair. I r»*snlvod not to return bouie witliont somotliing 
c!niiij>)tite, and I trifd for the first time to dceigii rapidly and in 
jnawes, the only passible method, and which, moreover, ie to-day 
one of the chief gifts of onr modem artists. I set niysolf, then, 
to drciimscriho at a glance the first group that presented itself. If 
it ouly remained fur a moment in position, I had at least seized 
■file gonoral character; if it contimied, I could complete the dutaila." 
Uprv^ wt! find the natural bent of Corot's genius gradually asserting 
itsetf. AVliether hu had learned little or much in the studio of 
Sortiii, it Would be of small sci-vice to him for the accomplishmeint 
of Ilia particular aims in ai-t; the study of classic models would 
Jtdp very little towards the rapid seizure of niomcntarj- cfTects of 
light and aliade, which was, after all. what Corot most desired. 
M. Bertin could give him the uyniphs, but the rest he had no 
power to give; and it is therefore from tliia point, when the 
painter begsiu to feel the need of tliis gift of rapid interprota- 
tioa of nature, that we may regard Corot as ha^Hiig undertaken 
-tlie enltivation of his own talent. 

M. Jean Rousseau, writing in VArt, lias endeaviDured to claim 
for Corot the qjirit of Greek art, and has boldly defended his 
position by pointing out, in Corofs landscape, these very nymphs 
tbstt wo Iiavo Euppoaed the painter to have inherited. But the 
li>"ji"*hcsj» is overatntined, and will not bear uouBideratiou. From 
■^v>jati»ever source acquii-ed, these classical figures scarcely belong 
1>.V any profoimd tie to the scenes they inhabit. They are not of 
*l»o easoncc of the picture ; and if they show anj-thing, it is in the 
■^"ay of limitation to tlie genius that has invented them. K Corot's 
■*"i«ion of nature had been more passionate and intense, it would 
'^ttt havo tolemtr-d the presence of these unreal images of an 
"^-'itique world; U' his Bjnnpathy with the spirit of Greek beauty 
*^*d been powerful, it would have created an appropriate scene in 
"^hich to enahrino them. But Corot's penetration into the love- 
■iQesB of nature was guided rather by sentiment than passion, and 
^icli tender sentiment as he sought was not disturbed or hindered 
^> its expression by these signs of harmless artifice. The truth 
*«. that Corot'a claims do not rest upon these more ambitious 
*'fforbi. Tlie lantlscapes, ■»%-ith historical titles, are not those by 
'^'''liirh he will be best ronembei-ed. or that best express the 
««^Ucate poetrj- of his art. It is in his smaller and slighter sketches 

Htid. for the purpose, none is too small or too shght— that we 
K'-t iiito coritact with the artist's personality, ami it is the person- 
alty of the artist that his art was siiecially designed to reveal. 

Accepting the lyrical or personal quality of Corot's painting aa 
*ls most noticeable feature, it is worth considering in how far the 



general tendency of French art has assieteJ iti? succearfol ^ 
pression. For Bome time paet the Gacrilice of colour to tone has 
beea the recognized rule of French painters. Not only in land- 
scape, but in figure sxihjccts, in the treatment of the most ideal as 
well as the most realistic themes; this tendency has been remark- 
able. The artist, brought more and more into contact v-ith the 
subjects of common life, and having to deal with the coarse and 
unselectcd colours of modem costume, has been compelled ti> 
devise some means to keep his work artistic if not beautifnl. And 
so far the endeavour has been successful. There probably haa 
never been at any time a school producing work, in cerlain respect*. 
more artistic tlian the work of the modem French school. Its 
professors have successfully dealt witli material that would at first 
sight seem impossible for art, as it certainly is barren of beauty, 
and this success has been almost entirely dependent upon techoiod 
dexterity in handling conflicting elements of colour. There ^ 
longer, imder this sj-stem, any need for the harmonious an 
raent of pure and positive tints ; by the potent use of tcine^ 
tints may be brought into possible companionship. There is i 
contrast so hideous but that it may acquire in this way a certAiii 
artistic fitness ; but at the same time it must be remembered thai) 
the system, although it thus avoids vulgarity in appears 
destroys all hope of noble and splendid colouring. Th 

who has constantly accustomed himself to reduce all colouj 

the point at which it becomes harmless, is incapable on a suddait 
of reatorijig their purity to bright and beautiful tints. And thus 
it happens that in all subjects of ideal art. the absence of noble 
colour is the one constant and in\incible delect of Frenc:h 
artists. They can force iiiliannonious tints into agreement, but 
they cannot, save in a few isolated instances, give to an-angemeatv 
harmonious in thcnisclves the strength and purity needed forrf 
feet beauty. But although deatnictive to ideal beauty in oq 
this cultivation of the qualities of tone lias greatly asBiflte£^_ 
progress of realistic ait. Specially has it been serviceable iu \ 
department of lanclscapc. for here the changing moods of weathor 
by their dominion over the colunra of the scone suggest tbe 
cmploj-ment of the painter's device to secure hannony. 
Buppreaeion of local coluiu' as Corot indulged, was only tlio extlj 
exercise of a control posscBsed by nature heraelf. The puntt 
caught and perfected the device nf the etonn and the cloud) 
although he subdues the facts of scenery to his own purpoi 
system he employs is brunglit into play wlieuever a cloud J 
over the eun. 

And thus it is that, although Corot need the moods of nature for 
the expression of an almost personal sentiment, his pictures arertill 
true to nature. No one has so dcHcately or so faitlifulty il^^H 

red tbu 

» Buddan 1 
rid thus 
f noble 
;nt, but 
;em eote ] 

iu tU I 



preted certata elomentB of landscape, aiitl ia certaia effects of light 

aiid air lie lias been the first to attempt and perfect pictorial es- 

[■reaaion. In looking at one of tlieee landscapes where the colours 

of the earth and sky i-nrionsly unite, the white fleecy clouds above 

blanching the green of leaves and grass, and turning the pools of 

wat4.^r to their own likeness, we feel as if the face of nature were 

an senedble to paAsing emotiims as tlie human face. So rc-fined and 

iinobtmeave ie the portraiture, that the momentary aspect of the 

4c«ae eeemci to have been unconsciously arrested. The painter has 

t-anght, in the sudden agreement of changing lights and flitting 

^doWR, a beauty that was almost too delicate i'or portraiture, and 

baa also given the sense of impending movement and the impres- 

siDR of a shifting and changing world. The swaying, restless trees 

labo an uncertain outline agaijist the white sky, the movement of 

the leaves* blurs their image on the canvas; so that we feel not only 

iluit the artist has seized a beautiful moment, but that it ia only a 

ruomentT and that the scene will pass in the next into some new 

liarmony. wrought by the all-powerful mle of the weather. In 

"Jrairing ihese pictorial ^-isionB of Corot, and in admitting their 

fidt'lity, it is not necessary to estimate the relative value of the truth 

Ihey reveal. But as affecting the painter's place in the record of 

contemporary art. it should be Raid that his is not the only ideal of 

landscape possible to a modem painter. Since the growth of what 

TO* called the Pre-Raphaehto movement, there has eJcistod in 

Englimd a ^mall school of colourists ivho have sought to revive 

fl* earlier aims of landscape art. A renewal of the taste for de- 

coativo beauty in painting has assisted the movement, and it has 

teen found that biilUant arrangements of colour and precision in 

"Wpi can oidy be gained in the ease of landscape by abandoning 

tba ttteiupt to reahze the land of effect that gives their chief charm 

t" 80 many of Corot's pictures. . - 

Hat it is not only amongst our oivn painters that the feeling for 

"iMigii has lately renewed itself. Millet, whose name stands 

'leservedly beside that of Comt, and M'hose loss is certainly not a 

'e*i loss to art, posBessed gifts of design of a very noble order. 

flia greatest merit was to have brought to the interpretation of 

"tttit themes the profoundest system of artistic expression, and 

to iiave tratislatcd the rough energy and simple movement of 

peuant hfo into the calm and enduring language of art. This 

*i"d of SL-rioua consideration had never been granted to the par- 

ticuLir class of subject witli wlrich Millet wholly occupied himself. 

Peasants had been treated from the purely picturesque or the 

purely artificial point of ^-iew : they had been painted by 

"ilkie, or by Boucher or Greuze, but no school of painters until 

llite recently had attempted a complete and serious study of 

"ii> facti) of their oxisteneo. The saggeativc beauty of their 



daily life — suggestive, that is to eay, in the invention of granj 
and energetic attitude, of vigorous and sincere eloquence in Form — 
had escaped notice, and this chiefly because most of the pattitere 
who had devoted themselves to the subject were equally ignorant 
of the principle of great design and of the deepest truths of rustic 
hfe. They came, prepared to simtcli the peasant fioin his mean 
existence, and to p-ant him the rosy cheeks and the sylvan 
garment fit, aa JI. JIaiitz has said for the Opera Comiquo or for a 
Bal Masque, or they were willing to embody him in their landscape 
in the KJime way ns they wontd the moss-grow-n trunk of a tree, 
but for all other or deeper intorprgtalion their resources were 
wholly inadequate. It is the special meiit of ^llillet that ho was 
equally prepared in both (hrections. Ho poBseased both the 
instinct for style and an intimate knowledge of th'^ peanaat's 
existence, and hence his art has revealed to us new secrets of 
beauty in a field already well trodden. 

Joan Francois Millet was bom on the 9th October, 1813, in the 
httle village of Griville, near CTierboitrg. Brought up amid the 
sample occupations of fhe countiy, he was from the beginning & 
peasant in spirit, and his sympathy witli the hardships and toil of 
the peasants' lot gave a permanent colour to liifl work in art. 
Proceeding to Paris, he entered tlie studio of Paul Delaroehe, and 
here he found himself in natural opposition to the ahns and 
system of his master. We hear of liim that he used to be laughed 
at by his fellow pupils for tallting niueh and often of Slichael 
Angelo : but fur us now the fact that a student of the Koniautic 
school eould appreciate the excellenecs of style is impovtauV ' 
proves that Millet had in his genius something bettor thaa f 
rebellion : he had the instim^t to reconstruct the new material 
well as to shatter the earlier edifice ; to give form to thai 
vision of nature. In l!<4ll he exhibited a portrait in the E 
but immediately afterwards he retired from Patis, dwelling a 
times at hia native place, and eomefimes in the towns : 
about. About this time he made a long stay at Havre, where h&- * 
employed himetjlf in painting the portraits of the sea captains for 
very small remaneration ; but in 184^ he was again in Paris, aad 
we find him then osBociated ■with Diaz in pushing forward the 
new gospels of romantic art. The artist, however, had not yet 
perfected his individuahty. In the Salon of 1847 was exhitt^B^ 
" (Edipe detachi! de I'arbre," a picture beaiing the marks ratb^^^f 
rupture with the laws of otiiers than of obedience to his^^^f 
The theme is more orthodox, and the treatment more &ggrai^^^| 
than at a later period, showing that the painter was still wit^^^| 
the power of selecting his own subject, or of treating it with^^^f 
fidence and calm. The firot characteristic work was "LeVaiin^^^H 
exhibited tn 1S48. and it is 8aid that Millet's rapid cultir^^^| 


La ^^^M 



flfliis talent at this time waa partly due to tho fiit'ndship and 
iDfluence of Theodore Rousseau, a painter full of a genuine love 
ud rererencu for nature. Each work now bore the stamp of a 
finti origiuaHty, and from the year 1851, when " Le Semeur" was 
nliibited, bis career has been only a Bucccsrion of artistic 

We may take this picture of " Le Semeur" hs reprcBentative of 
llie ntiWeet qualities of Slillet'H art. No onc^ who has seen it can 
hnro miased its gnuideiir or its simplicity, its grace or its tmth. 
A« we gaze at the flarkened figure hroadly scattering the grain, 
we perceive at oneo how close and accurate has been the paintei-'s 
knowledge of the facts of matie lifi;. There is here neitlier igno- 
nnce nor shirking of common tmth ; the peasant is not unfit for his 
place on the hill-sidf, and his gesture is strictly appropriate to the 
timplp and world-wora duty he has to peifonn. But although 
iHb is a tme peasant preseuted with unerring fidelity, by one 
vfho Itnows the reality of peasant life, it is also sometliing more. 
[.{Kiking at the plan of the picture, the sloping hue of the dark 
hilWde, the space of waning light, and the stress and energy of 
the lower, we note that the peasant has become a grand figure 
in & grand design. The movement of his outstretched ann, the 
slnmrt fierce energy of hia progress aeroas the barren landscape, 
«K'm to take a new significance. All sense of the individual 
bbonrer, all thought of his occupation, are lost in the contempla- 
tion nf a splendid and majestic picture in whi(;h these tilings serve 
oEJy as material. We pass with the painter from the obvious 
<|>pearanec of the scene to its deeper beaut;-. We perceive how 
nnt of this simpio physical duty, performed again and again, he has 
wawn new discoveries of the dignity of human fonn. The veiy 
nioiM'touy of the employment helps the impreasiveness of the 
pwtme ; the figure of the sower, that by the pauitcr's art is kept 
Weverin this one attitude of grace, seems to present in grand 
fc fa8hii>n an abstract of all human labour. There is a 
'"dnesB in his persistent progress, a hopelessness that has been 
Mrfingely imported into the aspect of this single figure, and which 
bdoiigB rather to the vision of the painter than to his subject, the 
WpreBoiou of a wider truth thrust into individual foim. And when 
ttefoU sigtiiBeanee of this profounder motive' has been realized 
*"« Utay again return to a simple view of the actual scene to note 
"Ofia more how all this has been expi-essed \\-ithout disturbance 
™ tho obvious Bimplicity and direct truth of the view of rustic 
'"*. The sense of style and the familiarity with the employments 
t* tJie country have united vrithout conflict for a eingle and 
Mnnonions effect. 

It has already been remarked how Corot retained to the last the 
tiwia of the artificial system that influenced liis youth. His 



iniagiuation was not sufficieiitly eerious or intense to urge liiffl to 
reform altogether tlie niateiial of liis art. He was eatisfied to 
leave the niireal nymphs, although he fraiiBportt'd them to a real 
landscape. But with Millet all such compromise was impossible. 
Ab the exponent of peasant life. Millet waa too completely in 
earnest to admit any of these fairies of the opera ; and, moreover, 
he had other figures more fit to people his stem landacapeB. The 
intense eympatliy of the painter with the fortujies of the class to 
which he devoted himself is a fact never to be forgotten in cou- 
eidenng the qualities of his art. Sometimes, even in the figures 
themselves, it is almost fiereely expressed, and it always exercises 
a distinct influence over his treatment of natural beauty. In the 
lot of the peasant. Millet perceived what most other paiuters have 
neglected — its hardships and it« hopeless uneventful toil. He waa 
never tired of giving emphasis to this side of his subject, 
and occasionally the influence of this feeling seems to have 
placed a limitation upon liis power of interpreting beauty in 
nature. Less gifted painters than Millet have avoided altogether 
all but the appearance of jocund health that the country is sup- 
posed to grant to its inhabitants. The French painter, however, 
took a tmer and, therefore, a more tragic view of his subject, 
and rendered liis rustics faithful to life by displaj-ing the sad 
endurance of their existence. And the qualities that he found in 
the people he transferred to the scenery. A more impartial vision 
might have presented as tme a picture of toil and liardship in the 
midst of, and in contrast with, a world of bright flowers and 
sunny days, but Millet united the two rathi-r harmoniously, and 
cho«e for the background of liis seiious compositions landscapes 
of sombre and even of savage character. As a master of design, 
endowed with a feeling for decorative beauty, he seldom made 
use of the atmospheric effects employed by Corot, but his scenes 
are nevertlieless infected mth a deeper sadness of spirit. Some- 
times the threatening sky and the traces of bitter wind seem too 
much like constant accompaniments of field labour, and we are 
inclined to demand a vision of a brighter world. But the painter 
kept steadily to the moods of weather most in sjinpathy \ 
own ; and as his purpose in art was to interpret the more sq 
side of peasant hfe- he selected the aspects of nature that ^ 
best justify and support this purpose. 

J. C MYNS Cai^ 


SIK F. EDEN lias said" that tbo class of Poor, as a wpurate 
one, dates from the diniimifion ol' villeinage and the growth 
Af nnmicipalities and comnmiiitieH not dircctlv connected with 
tbc hnd ; thB villeinB. under the feudal Rysteni, liaving been niain- 
l*nitd at the charge of their landlordfi. This, however, is not 
quite correct. Even before the Ibraiation of parishes, when the 
^h of the tithes of a dioceac was paid to the Bishop, a part ia 
"lid to have been reserved for the Po(^r ; the same obligation was 
(^(Wtiiiued on the puifons of parishes, and there arc specific etatntea 
"fKing Edgar and King Alfred, formally enjoining almsgiving 
li 1lt« Pool-, But it seems tnie tliat from Alfred to Richard 1 1, the 
wi* of the Poor wae generally left to the landowners, and to the 
tnstomarj' hospitality of reli^ons houses ; the first Statute cited 
sfer the Conquest being in the thii-d year of Edward I.t 

It can hardly be doubted that from the suddenness ■^vith which 
'"6 mimaateries were suppressed liy Henry VIII, some immediate 
pffwurii on tho Poor must have followed. But it is very question- 
»lilf whether it had any veiy sfrioue effect even then, and still 
l^at (he end of the ceuturj-, the period of the great Statutes of 
FJizabtth for the Relief of the Poor. Bishop Copleston, in an able 
TtBtt which I am obliged to quote from memory, says, what I take 
indiiiputable, that the maintenance of people in idleness, 

! P.|or. i, :••>. t IJuiV- Hwlnry ol the Poor LnwB, 2, 3, 4. 


which that by monasteries chiefly was,* can never really promote 
their comfort and well-being ; and he attributes the increased 
importunity of Pauperism at the end of the sixteenth, and again at 
the end of the eighteenth, centuries, to a much more profound 
cause, the rapid rise of prices and fall in the value of money — 
which at first tells hardly on the labouiing class — produced, in the 
first instance, by the ^vorking of Ihc gold and silver mines of 
America; in the latter, by the extension of the paper currency 
and banking systems in England. 

The legislation of this country as to the relief of destitution may 
be regarded in three periods : that previous to the 43rd of Eliza- 
beth; that intei-vcniiig between that Statute and the New Poor 
Law of 1834 ; and that from 1834 onwards. - There are, however, 
other epochs, to some of which I may allude, though somewhat 
less marked, as in tlic time of Giarles II., of George L, and 
George III. 

The contemplation of the doings of Parliament in this matter 
before Elizabeth's time, cannot be veiy gi-atifying to those who 
love to dwell on the wisdom, or the amiableness, of our ancestors. 
As is stated by the Commissioners of Poor Law Inquiry (1834),t 
the main object of those cases seems to have been the restraint of 
Vagrancy. But it was so, because the worthy legislators seem to 
have thought it enough to tell people that they mttst work ; that 
they must not be idle, nor Avander about ; and if they did, they 
should be dealt with in a manner, of which the excessive severity 
in substance was fully matched by the coarse and naked brutality 
of the language in which it was conveyed. The otius thrown on 
some one or other to find work for all who ought to work, is of a 
later date. Edward III. tells his poor subjects that they must, 
eacli of them, serve, at the accustomed wages, " him which ahall 
so him require.'' It may a httle enliven the subject to quote some 
of the more whimsical of those early provisions. In the Statute 
now alluded to, it is referred to the Bishops to command the CurateB 
to *' compel their parishionei-s to labour ; " and also, apparently 
in the same clause, to compel their "stipendiary Priests" to do 
their duty, " wOiich do now excessively take, and will not servo 
for a competent salary ."{ 

Again, he tells them to do the same, and adds that no one shaU 
serve in summer, except at harvest time, in any place other than 
where he served in '\vinter.§ 

Again, that all handicraftsmen shall work, and shall never change 
their work, or ** mysteiy."|| 

Again, all almsgiving is simply proliibited " to those which may 

♦ So Sir F. Eden, i. 94, 93. 

t P. 4. I quote from tho originnl Pniliumentary Paper, printed Feb. 21, 1834. 

X Burn, 7, 8. § Bum, 9. || Bum, 11. 


labour \" the inference being that they will then, of coni'se, get a 
living by work.* 

Richard II. prohibited all begging, except by " people of religion 
and eremites," who were to have teBtimonialsfrom their Ordinaries; 
pilgrims with a Royal testimonial given them by "seven good men 
of the Hmidred ; " Scholars of the Universities, with testimonials 
from the Qiancellor ; and foreignei-s, under conditions hardly 

Henry V. commands that " all Irish clerks, and beggars, called 
chamberdekins (I) shall be voided out of the realm." 

Henry VII., Henry VIII., and Edward VI. have Statutes against 
Vagrants, constantly increasing in ferocity — the worst in all re- 
spects being imder thgit gentle youth and flower of the Refonna- 
tion, Edward VI. In his first yearj he enacts that cveiy idle 
person shall be deemed a vagabond ; shall, after three days, be 
brought by any person before Justices and (apparently Avithout 
option to the Justices) branded Avith a hot iron ; and, as if the 
said person bringing liim would be only too glad to keep him, he 
shall be his slace for a year, and fed on " bread and water, small 
drink, and refuse of meat :" on a first running away, he was to be 
slave for life ; on a second, put to death as a felon. 

I do not find that Queen Mary added to her evil repute by 
enacting similar laws. Queen Elizabeth did ; but before her time 
was the dawn of the present system of State Relief, to which I 
shall now turn, only reminding you of what is notorious, that 
all these savage Statutes failed, as is indeed shown by their con- 
stant succession — just as much as those other Statutes, not savage, 
but irrational, failed, which professed to fix the rate of wages and 
the price of provisions. 

The first of the Acts which, while still penal against Vagrants, 
beggars, and refuscra of work, provide, or profess to provide, 
that work or alms shall be found for them, was in 1536 (^7th 
Henry VIII., c. 25).§ All these acts, down to the end of the 
century, liave a ludicrous mixture — as in some other cases of 
ecclesiastical or semi-ecclesiastical legislation — of appeals to 
Christian motives and spiiitual influence, ^vdth unmistakeablo in- 
dications of the secidar law in the background. Thus — " The 
head oflBcers of every parish sliall keep the poor people, by way 
of voluntary and charitable alms ; shall compel them to be kept 
to labour, on pain that the paHsh shall pay 20s. a month ; evciy 
preacher, at all times, is to move eveiy one to be liberal in 
relieving the impotent and setting sturdy vagabonds to work." 
Edward VI. orders eveiy Curate, every Simday, to exhort the 
people to " remember the duty of Clnistian charity towards " — 

♦ Burn, 22 t Burn, 23. % Burn, 32. 

§ Ri^rt of Commissionoi-s of Inquiry, p. 4. 


whom ? — '* them which be their bretliren in Cliiist, bom in the. same 
parish " — a Hraitation which I do not find in the Gospels, and a 
new gloss upon the " household of faith." Again, the young King 
appoints in every parish two Collectors, who are ^^ gently to ask 
every man and woman what of their charity they will give a week 
to the Poor :" this is to be written in a book : " and if any one 
able do obstinately and frowardly refuse to give, or discourage 
others, the jVIinister and Churchwardens are to gently exhort him ;** 
and if he still holds out, the Bishop is to come on the scene. 
Notliing is said oi his gentleness, but it is still by ^^ charitable 
ways and means'' that he is to proceed, till ultimately he is 
to "take order, according to his discretion, for the reformation 

Greatly would Archbishop Laud, and the High Commission 
Court, and the officei*s of the Inquisition, and others who have 
handed over spiritual oflFenders to the tender mercies of the secular 
arm, have admired this provision. 

But these makeshifts could not continue long. An Act of the 
5th Elizabetht appears to bo the first that has recourse to the 
obvious and only effectual means of a legal tax. The stingy 
parishioner is still conducted through various vestibules to the 
awful presence of the Bishop ; but there, if he still recalcitrates, 
the discretionary engine of reformation entinisted to that dignitary 
takes the very tangible form of "weekly sess, tax, and limit," to 
be procured by him for the next Sessions ; and, finally, in default 
of payment, he is sent to prison. 

In the 14th EUzabeth another Act was passed.^ taking the 
further step of directing certain authorities to " place and settle 
to work" (how, it is not said) the rogues and vagabonds — 
thus, for the first time, departing from the earlier stupidity of 
simply telling people that they must work, without means of 
knowing where work was to be had. How little, indeed, of real 
improvement there was in this additional device, we shall see 

Other Statutes followed in the reign of the Queen, which need 
not be recited. The last of them, the famous 43rd of Elizabeth 
(and which is most famous simply as being the last), as is well 
known, does little more than re-enact the one of the 39th year ; 
and none of them do more than apply in detail the principles 
previously laid down.§ 

Here, then, are the two pillars on which the law of England 
on this subject has now rested for not far from three centuries ; 
relief to the impotent without work,' rehef to the able in return for 

* Burn, r»2— 71. t Burn, 72. 

X Bum, 77. Roport of Cominissionora of Inquiry, (J, 7, 

§ Burn, 7I)—y;i 



. the help of many 8ul>8cqueiit StatuU-s, and ol' an 
inde&iitc mass of judgt'-niado law, we have rubbed on bitlit-rto, 
ami bIuJL probably, contiuut- to do so, on tbeee prinoipIeR. Thi? 
tlieory of the Acte of EUaabeth bas never been m tbe ttlightest 
i)«gree i-nriwl ; for the one gr«it reform of tbe New Poor Law of 
1834 was only tbe constitution of a vigorous and rcspfmsibln 
Oentml Executive, with largo and elaslic powers of inquiiy. in- 
action, control, prohibition, direction ; but still in giWng offcot 
to that theory and no other. 

I am not yet come to the question, what ought to bo dcmi-. 
I tm etill looking at the hietoiy; and, in considering wliiit ban 
passed since the time of Elizabeth, let us fii-st ask wliut bac 
biwo done iu respect of that which is obviously much the more 
difficult of the above two bi'anches of administration — thi.' pro- 
viding work, by a legal authority outside the natiiral course of 
tnde, for those who are able to work, but are, or profess ti> be, 
nuiWe to get work. Has it ever been doue, with anytliiiig like 
completeuese, and as a national systetu ? 

To give at all a full answer would require much more research 
fiaa I have been able to bestow: though it i» probable that 
tutniag over the leaves of the second and third Volumes i.f 
SrF.Eden's "Stato of the Poor," wbicb contain mainly wliat he 
«11h "Parochial Reports," might funiieh a good measure of uifov- 
DUtioii up to the close of last centuiy. But I will refer to a 
fmUtfi of evidence, chiefly taken from tbe Appendix to Hum's 

Lord Hale," writing, perhapn, about 16.50, says, as what every 
one knowB,t that there is " no provision " for the employment of 
till! Poor. " It is rare to see any provision of a stoek " (which is 
Uie meaTLH indicated iJi the Statute) " in any parish for the rehef of 
the Poor." { 

Sir Josiah Child, in Cliarles II.'s time, say8,5 " We do net, ti<ir 
wet did, comfortably employ our Poor." 

A Mr. John Cary, in 1700, says, " We encourage our iii- 
W^aute in idleness. . . . Our laws to set the Poor at wink 
tiethort and defective, and do not answer their endi*." || 

Mr. Hny, in 1735,11 proposed a new law to "provide stock to Bit 
tiie Poor on work." 

Sir W, Blaekstone, about the middle of last century, said ' * thai 
the UvB for setting the Poor to work were shamefully ncgUcted 
in ttm country. 

Fielding, the novelist, who was alaci a London Slagintrate, snyn, 
in 1753,tt that tho Poor Laws " have not auswered their puriiose. 

Bum. 133, «j,. 

t Dura, 13r. : Bora, 143. 

S Bum 

Dura, 173, 17fi. 

^ Barn, IB*. '* Comcoont. 
tt Bum. 197, 

SW, S61 


and the tax is absurdly applied ; " and describes the state of thi 
Poor in characteristically forcible language. 

Dr. Burn himself says* (1764), that *' almost every proposal for 
the reformation of the Poor Laws hath been tried in former ages 
and proved ineffectual : " and lastly, Sir F. Eden, in 1797, 8ay8,t 
" I had almost said in every parish in England, persons are found 
preferring a parish pension and a Ufe of idleness to hard work and 
good wages." 

The epoch of the great relaxation in the administration of the 
law was about the end of last century ; and the history of work 
being found for those to whom it did not come naturally, or the 
pretence of work, culminated in the state of things described by the 
Commissioners of Inquiry in 1834 : the " roundsman" syBtiem,^ 
by which the parish "paid the occupiers of property to employ 
appUcants for rehef at a rnte of wages, fibred hy the parish^ and de- 
pending, not on the services, but on the wants of the applicants, 
the employer being repaid out of the Poor-Rate all that he 
advanced in wages beyond a cei-tain sum ; " the employment 
wholly by the parish, when " in far the greater number of the cases 
in which work was professedly required, in fact no work was 
done" § — (often if there was work it was such as wheeling stones 
out a mile and back again, digging holes and filling them up 
again, &c.) — ^the " labour-rate " system, || by which the employer 
agreed to employ men, not according to any real demand, but on 
some scale of rent, acreage, and the hke. 

And now, before leaving the liistorical retrospect, let us ask 
w^hat is, apart from all questions of classification, machinery, pro- 
cedure, and the like, the one simple provision, the direct provision 
I mean, of the English Poor Law ? Since the New Poor Law at 
least there is no question about it. It has been authoritatively 
stated countless times : it is this, and this only, that no one in 
the coimtry can by law remain destitute of the actual neces- 
saries of life. I must say that no less than this appears to me to 
be the fair meaning of the ancient Statutes. But I know it has 
been held on good authority that they are not quite so universal 
in their scope. I beheve tliis positive right to maintenance is held' 
to date, strictly speaking, from a Judgment of Lord Chief Justice 
Ellenborougli, in 180i^,f or rather from his dictum in it. The 
question arose as to a destitute foreigner. It was attempted to be 
argued that because such a man could, of coin*se, have no statutoiy 
sett leme fit, he could not be a pauper with a legal claim. Lord 
KUenborough put aside that point as immaterial, not even hearing 
it argued out, and said that *' the law of humanity," to which no 
doubt he assumed that the English Common Law must conform, 

♦ P. lOG. t I. 44». : P. 1^. § P. 21. H P. 24. 

t 4 East'H Uoports, lOo, 


i calls " uutL-riin' to all positive laws," ■■ obliged os to 
to aliens, ami therefore, of course, a fortiori to 
our own people, '-to savu tln-m from starving." He eaid that 
u reported Bayuig of Lord Holt to the opposite effect, as to 
(ureigners, iiiTist. b<? disbelieved from respect to liia meraoiy. 

He ijuotes ijo authority-, but the law now is undoubtedly what 
b Btated ; and iu that broad and Bimplc form I think it can 
lisfdly be denied tliat tlie opposite would be inconsistent, not 
mer»:ly with the dictates of revealed and even of natural reUgion. 
lint those of uuivereal instinct, at least amoug tolerably civilized 
people. It is well known that the denial, or apparent denial of 
it l)y Maltlins. in the first Edition of bis famous work, waa can- 
wHed by liimself hi the later once. That the mere adDussion and 
«Utt-meiit of thi- principle hut Uttle helps us to the practical cou- 
etructiou of the law which ia to give it effect, is phiin enough, as 
ffill 8(ion apjioar. 

For I may now — but now. too, not without reference to the 
Udory, the history of opinion, ou thc-enbjeot^ — Btate tlie priuciplo, 
the inculcation of wliicb ia my main object ; tbo most important 
pmctical principle, as I conceive, in deaUng with Pauperism. 
I diall have to advert to some particiilara hereafter : at present 
1 Trill only state the principle itself. It is this : that Pau- 
IKnam. iu its most general sense, independent of all particular 
(omuof it, or of reUef to be given to it — Pauperism, meaning a 
•tate of dopeudeiice, not upon charity, tliat is, voluntary benevo- 
l*Me (»f any kind, but on a compulsory tax, on which all may 
imw to a practically imlimited amount, if they aro without any 
of tho actual neccsBaries of life — is a condition which ought to he 
lOftde dtengrcablu to, and dreaded by, the working class. This is, no 
imbt, well enough knomi as the "deterrent principle;" and it 
nUf bo twid that it has been abundantly maintained aud enforced 
of IWe years. May be so; but, in the first place, as far as lamahlo 
to find out, it M of late years, and of late years ouly ; and in the 
next place, the principle, though often enough apphed to certain 
iinoB or pro^-inces of Relief, is by no moans always so in the 
Iteadtb in which 1 have put it. 

Tlie fimt statement, dating the enunciation of the principle from 
» l*tc period — in fact, from that of the Comniission of 1834 — is at 
IwHtofsome historical interest. I can 6nd no trace of it ui any of 
thtt earlier records. Some few. worried by the sight of the eWls 
"found them, proposed to prohibit almsgiving — a totally different 
tinng, to which I sliall briefly allude hy-and-by, but of which it is 
^Ogh to suy here tliat it is simply impossible. And so far uii 
'lis iiTong scent, according to our notions, were these very 
idvocated this abohtion of ahnsgi\-ing on the 
roiuid tliat its place was to bo taken by a grand and uu- 


limited system of State employment of the working class, of 
which they commonly spoke A^dth the utmost hopefiilness. There 
is, in almost all, and in all the best, of the earUer authorities which 
I have quoted, the strongest contrast between the force and the 
clearness with which the evil is set forth, and the futiUty, feeble- 
ness, or unsoimdness of the remedies wliich they proposed, even 
the ablest of them, among whom I may mention Lord Hale, 
Sir. W. Blackstone, and Dr. Burn Ininself.* All of these seem 
to see a perfect Utopia in the prospect of an indefinite amount of 
public employment to be set up, in pursuance, fonsooth, of the Act 
of Elizabeth, in every paiish in the country. John Locke advo- 
cated the "roundsman" system.t 

Two notable variations may be mentioned. Defoe, in a most 
remarkable pamphlet, J after dwelhng on the abuses existing, and 
the sad state of the Poor, with the vigom* to be expected of him, 
distinctly decUnes to make any suggestion, which, he says, is for 
others rather than for him; and Sir. F. Eden, after the most 
exhaustive investigation of the whole subject, says,§ "I have, 
purposely, almost wholly abstained from drawing conclusions from 
the facts." 

In 1817 appeared one of the most briUiant productions, con- 
sidering the iminviting character of the subject, which I believe 
has ever been written, though I fear but little read now : " CJon- 
siderations on the Poor Laws," by Mr. Davison, the well-known 
Author on Prophecy. Here I will only refer to one passage in it, as 
illustrating what I have said, that the principle of deterrence^ 
though not miknown then, was far indeed from being recognized. 
Mr. Davison alludes to it|| as a sort of pecuUar opinion or fancy 
(in its particular application to what we now so well know as the 
"workhouse test," but on grounds clearly predicable of the 
general principle). He says, " Many persons consider the terror 
of the workhouse to be a salutaiy check upon the Poor. . . . 
The degradation of the asylum is to deter the approach to it. 
The hardsliip of it is to be the security they would keep in hand 
against importunate claims." But after stating the principle so 
well, he goes on to treat it and discuss it very hghtly, and evi- 
dently has no idea of the important paii; it was soon to be called 
upon to play. 

Even in Mr. Fawcett's late very able work on Pauperism, 
though the principle, in its full breadth, no doubt lies under his 
whole argument, I do not find it expUcitly stated. 

Mr. Heniy Longley, who, in his recent capacity as Poor Law 
Inspector, has discussed nearly the whole subject of Relief with. 

* Bam, 215, xeqq, f Edon, 244, seqq. X See Extracts in Eden, i. 2G1, 9egq. 

§ I. xxviii. il Remainrt, pp. 544, 545. * 


great abiliiy,* has not, I think, actually enunciated the principle, 
fliough he probably assumed it. 

ITie CommisBioners of Inquiry, in at least one passage,t do 
faDy state the - rule : " The paupers condition shall not be, really 
or apparently, so eHgible as that of the independent labourer of 
the lowest class." But the opening sentence in this very Chapter 
points- attention to the particular case of the able-bodied, or of 
the labourer assumed to be labouring; and I think a general 
consideration of the Report, and especially of its practical sugges- 
tions, will show that the complete application of the principle so 
itated was not distinctly in their view. 

I may now dwell a Httle on the principle itself, and then pass 
<»ito consider the means — I believe there is only one means — of 
giving it effeet. To argue much on the former or abstract ques- 
tion, the principle itself, is hardly needed. Indeed, the Commis- 
aoners sayj that they foimd it " univei'sally . admitted.** This 
• certainly ahows a great advance above last century, and was no 
doubt due to the monstrous growth of evil that arose in the first 
tiiirty years of the present century ; and sincie 1834 the principle 
may be found often asserted. Not universally. From whatever 
leasoDy the famous Report I have so often quoted, and the Act 
founded on it, excited a storm of opposition from the Ttmes^ the 
Sumdard, Mr. Cobbett, and many other writers, the efiFects of 
vhich have been greatly felt up to this day. But the tide has 
been turning perceptibly now for some years, aided, no doubt, by 
the great prosperity of the working class generally; and my 
object is to help it on a bit, if I could. 

Again, then : Pauperism is dependence for necessaries, whether 
in return for real work, for sham work, or for no work, not on a 
Mtural demand for work, nor yet on voluntary alms, but on a 
compulsory tax levied with no positive object at all, but with the 
8ole object of preventing destitution. Pauperism is an evil, and 
ought to be felt by all to be one. 

Long since 1834 this has been occasionally denied. I remember 
to article in the Stamlard upholding " hberal parish employment " 
^ the true spirit of last century ; and another in the Times^ 
scouting the idea that among the Poor themselves the receipt of 
^*'WH>r rehef should ever be held a stigma or a disadvantage. 

Still, as I said, the abstract question is well worn, and I will 
only notice a few topics, and dwell a httle on one or two which I 
^y have especially noticed in my own long coimexion with the 
*<lmini8tration of the law. 

Pauperism poisons the first springs of industiy, and reverses the 

* 3rd Rop. Local Govomment Board, 136—207. 
t'i*. 127. X Ubisup, 



primeval law, saying, *' In the sweat, not of thy face, but that of 
others, thou shalt have bread to eat," 

It removes a very large proportion of the motives which act 
through wholesome fear— dread of consequences — ^from the mind of 
the labourer. 

Of the contrast — ^to my mind a broad and deep one — ^between 
Charity and Pauperism, I shall say a Uttle more hereafter. Here 
I will only say that Pauperism is not Charity, except on the 
intangible ground of the personality of the State. Charity is 
individual, and its essence is individual, personal, tangible willing^ 
ness and self-oflFeriug. Of the dispensation of a Bate, hear the 
weighty words of Mr. Da\4son : * ** The invisible Corporation of the 
parish buys its pensioner s ill-will, or liis sullen and thankless con- 
tentment, with its weekly offerings, wliich have neither the merit 
of being free wages nor a pure gift of kindness." And Sir F. 
Eden has well adaptedf the famous profligate couplet against 
maniage, to compulsoiy Charity, to which it really does apply. 
" Charity,'* he says, 

"Free as air, at sight of human tics, 
Spreads its light wings, and in a moment fliea.** 

It not only discourages forethought, thrift, and self-denial, but 
sharply marks them out as folly. According to it, in at least a 
good measure, "he that provideth not for liis own" may, indeed, 
be " worse than an infidel," but is not very imwise in his gene- 

But I need not go on. Those who may wish to see these 
general considerations set forth with a picturesqueness and force 
hardly inferior to Burke or Macaulay, may read a few paragraphs 
in Mr. Davison's Essay.J 

The two points which, in my own experience, perhaps, strike 
me the most, are these : — 

1. In every possible case the Pauper class must inevitably 
contain a large element of the very worst and most noxious 
members of the lowest portion of tlie people. Short of actual 
crime and criminals there is and can be nothing below it; 
we touch the very bottom of things. It is therefore self-evident 
that it must bring the virtuous who j-ield to Pauperism into con- 
tact, fellowsliip, and contamination with this poisonous matter; 
by actual necessity they must touch the pitch, and be defiled 

2. That which, I am verj^ sure, is far the worst plague-spot 
of Pauperism,' in the purely moml and social view — ^that which^ 
after not very far from forty years' experience, fiUs me with 
fresh indignation at each fresh instance — and not a day 

• r. Sr. t Eden, I 460. X pp. 657—567. 

^^^^V THE I'OOH LAWS. 179 

ptHcfl at any Board of Guardians without fresh instances — that 
which the tender-hearted anil sentunental ought pticuliarly to 
feel— is the inversion, the obliWon, the annihilation, caused, or 
tMitliiig to be caused, by a Poor Law, of the family affections, and 
the sense of family obligations, AVhat wonld the grave old 
Proplwst, who closes the Old Testanicnt* with the solemn warning 
that this earth eliould be smitten with a curse nnk-ss the hearts 
of fathiTS and cliildren were turned to each other — what would he 
l«Te felt, if after more tlian 2.000 yeare— after more than 1,800 of 
iheOoKpel which he heralded — he 1 tad been called to reWsit the 
nd earth, been made a Poor Law Inspector, and seen what is 
dfwribud iji the following fearful passage ? — 

"It is AH difficnlt to coarey to the niind uf tbe reader a true and faithful 
uu]insuuu of the intensity auii uiali^Lincj of the evil, as it is by any 
wcription, however vivid, to give an adequate idea of the horror of a 
Aipwreck or a pestilence. A person must converse with paupers, most 
OltT wi:irkhouse3 and examine tlie inmatt^a, must atteud at the parish pay- 
tible, before he can form any idea of the morsl debasement which is the 
olbpnDj^ i.if the present system. He must hear the pau))er threaten to 
alwidoii his wife and family unless more money ia allowed him — threaten 
iD&buidon an a^ped bedridden mother, to turn her out of his house and lay 
Wdowu at the ovei'seer's door, unless be is paid for giving her shelter ; he 
nut hear parents threaten to follow tbe same course with regard to their 
tick cliildren : be iiiiist see mothers coming to receive the reward of their 
'itng^ters' ignominy, and witness women in cottages quietly pointing oat, 
*Ktltmt even the question b^g asked, which ai'e their childreu by their 
tudaiid, and which by other men previous to marriage ; and wliea he finds 
tbll he can scaroely step into a town or parish in auy county without 
BHoting with some instance or other of this character, he will no longer 
TOiiMor the pecuniary pressure on the ratepayers as the firat in the class 
"f evUs which the Poor Laws have entailed on the communily." 

I beKeve these words have been often quoted. They are those of 
Mr. Cowell, Aseistant Commipnioner lu the Commission of Inquirj".t 
Thoy may no longer be liternlly applicable anywhere. But will 
any of ub, familiar with the working of the law, say that the 
{GSeience is in kind, and not only in degree 1 

V^ then, if the calamitous cliaracter of Pauperism is admitted, 
aiiiiply as auch, and under whatever conditions, is not the corollary' 
cletrT Ii not the evil aericms? and is it not manifestly capable of 
coostant and indefinite increase ] Without any rigid theory 
about Population, can any one deny that if the whole working 
ckn are told that in no practically conceivable event shall they, 
Aodu many children as they may happen to have, be in want of 
tbe necessaries of life, there can be, so far, no security that they 
may not ultimately fall as low as the Irish ouce were, and tlie 
Chinese are now — not to go further'? But, then, can we expect to 
pntrent tliis uidess we enlist the working class themselves on our 

^^^H * M4I. JT. C. t ttspiirl oi CommiisiDavrB of Inqiury. p. 51. 


Ride, and on that of the law and its aims ? And liow can we do so 
unless we bring to bear on them some of the ordinary motives of 
human action ? We appeal to all the other classes : • to legislators, 
Clergy, pliilanthropista, Ratepayers, Guardians — to their sense of 
duty, of interest, of safety. How do we appeal to the actual 
subjects with whom we are directly and properly concerned ? 

It is idle to speak of the mere sense of shame and degradation. 
This is a very interesting part of the subject ; but here I will 
only suggest for careful consideration this question : What is 
the foundation of this sense '? As a fact, I apprehend that this 
motive does work, powerfully and incessantly, on all classes^ 
beginning immediately above that of the unskilled labourer, and, 
indeed, with rapidly increasing momentum, till, very little above 
the said unskilled in the scale, it is perhaps sufficient. But no one 
who is at all acquainted with the historj"^ of the subject will 
say that for the mass of labourers this safeguard alone will 

Before passing on to tlie specific practical conclusion, from the 
principle stated in the administration of the law, I must appeal to 
the ascertained facts of the case, at least as regards this countiy, 
in further vindication of the reasonableness of feeling satifified 
to some extent when our immediate object is attained, and Pauper- 
ism is diminished. Mr. Carlyle,* for example, wholly scouts this 
simple statement. He says, in his peculiar language, that, no 
doubt, paupers can be dealt \\\\\\ like vermin — " ground down," 
*' abraded," " abolished ; " only, as he says, " arsenic ** would be 
better and simpler stilL Tliat means, I presume, to put it 
definitely, that if, in a given population, there are 500 paaperB, 
and if, by a more stringent administration, that number is 
diminished, it probably only shows that some of them have died 
of starvation, and the rest are there still, only more miserable 
than before, and terrified into comparative silence and quiet. 
Such ideas can only be met by full investigation, on which 
I cannot enter. But I believe the facts arc all against this in- 
imitable writer; and that, wherever Pauperism has diminished, the 
condition of the Poor, including the bulk of those who were paupers 
themselves, has indisputably improved. One existing case, familiar 
to those who have taken interest in these matters, I will allude to: 
the case of the Atcham Union, in Shropsliire. Under the able 
and enh'ghtened — no doubt what is commonly called stem and 
stringent — superintendence of the late Sir Bald^vyn Leighton, 
things in that Union were brought to this : in all England the ratio 
of paupers to the population in 1872 was 4*2 per cent. ; in Atcham, 
1*6: in England, the cost per head for relief was Gs. lid.; in 

• *' Chartism,'' p. 17. 


jb<lttm,4k waa 4b ^. : in England, the rate in the pound was 
!(.^d.; ill Atchani, 3d.: in England, the proportion of oiit-dooi- 
pROpOTS to in-door was 5 to 1 ; in Atcham, 1\ to I.* And these 
bong the statistice of Patipcnsm, it mil be found, on iuqnirj*, that 
tiie l&btmring population in that Union — 1 do not eay in conac- 
qnencA of the administration of tho Poor Law, but certainly con- 
eiirrewflj' with it, and not liiiidered bnt aided by it — are excep- 
t'onalty well-to-do in all rfspccts. 

Once Tuorc : in comparing our administration, as it is or has 
leeti. with what it might be, I will not avail uiyBolf of tliat par- 
licular period, the opprobrium, the dmnken Helot, of our k-gal 
*vrtem of Poor Rehef. tlie time between nHO and 1834 : the timo 
v!iMi.uithe practice {pcrluipe, indeed, in the intention) of the- 
Is*, the old landmark of Queen EHzabeth. tlie broad dyke between 
tlm able-bodied and the impotent, was wholly destroyed. But the 
hietoty of this tiiae is bo luan'ellous, that a slight reference to 
s«mf i)f itB salient features will be interesting and even amusiiig. 
At the end of last century, it seems that, no doubt from the 
vejk.fcmiided anticipation that for yeara to come there would be 
utiotanBe and iuccasant demand in the country for all its strength 
in the French war, there was an inipresfiion among our politicians 
thitHwaa their business to stimulate pojmlation to the utmost in 
«11 wayB. I believe this was expressly stated by Jlr. Pitt : at all 
(■vwitB, with reference to our present subject, it is memorable that 
no \<im a man than he, after being Prime Minintcr for thirteen 
jmis, dch'benLtcly proposed to Parliament, not only that a pauper 
might possess freehold land, but shoidd bo supplied, at the cost of 
U9 parish, with a cow.t This waa not done ; but Sir W. Young's 
ilct, which was passed, (3fi Geo. III., c. 23), was to this effect :— It 
WcitMit as a basis of legifllation, the veiy opposite piinciple to 
™t we have dwelt on — -viz., that the '■ comfort and domestic 
l^ipiovss " of the paupers shoidd be specially studied ; and its 
«i«ctiiig part gives practically ujilimited power to the Justices of 
^ Peooc to give relief to any one at their discretion. I say, this 
■wi* ita effeot : whether this waa the right legal construction of 
tt* Act is extremely donbtfuI.§ 

Uo^trates are called the Great Unpaid; and I, as a tord- 
lienteuaut. am one of the Greatest and Moat Unpaid. AiuL as such, 
it would ill become me, nor do I the least wish, to disparage that 
ancient order, or to qiicfition tliat, on the whole, it has worked very 
whIL But it remnuis tnie that at their door lies the blame of a 
■Uto of things, which those who cannot look back fifty years 
■cannot possibly realize to thcmselve'g. 

■ Sti'l RnpOTt of Loesl GoTommoni Bonrd, 1^73 ; pp. U., siii., 01, 68, OU. 
' " port ol ComIni^siono^» of loquivv, p. Ii;, 
iLii.7L S Ibid. pp. 8i'.a8. 


Sydney Smith said,* " We have been calling on the population 
to beget more children — furnished them with food, •clothes, and 
houses — ^taught them to lay up nothing for matrimony, nothing 
for children, nothing for age — and to depend upon Justices of the 
Peace for the supply of every himian want." 

The results of this system may be read in profusion in the 
Report of 1834, and in countless other publications. I will only 
notice three specimens. 

The first is the case, once notorious, of Cholesbiuy, a small village 
in Buckinghamshire. Theref "the expense of maintaining the 
poor swallowed up the whole value of the land: the landlords 
gave up their rents, the farmers their tenancies, the clergyman 
his glebe and his tithes ; the parish officers threw up their books ; 
the poor assembled in a body at the clergyman's door, while he 
was in bed, asking for advice and food :" the extreme remedy of 
a rate-in-aid from other parishes was actually used for two years ; 
and the Rector recommended that the whole of the land should be 
simply abandoned, and divided among the able-bodied paupers. 

Mr. Benett, Pohce-Magistrate of "Worship Street (he, no doubt^ 
was not an "unpaid"), used to sit on a Saturday evening, from 
seven to ten or eleven, when " masses of paupers," sometimes 
more than 100, were brought before him, who knew nothing of 
them, nominally imder the charge of an overseer, who knew little 
more, and they were pretty nearly all given money by way of 


And lastly, I regiet to say, in my own county of Worcester, § 
the Senior Magistrate of the Pershore division (I could find out 
who he was, but I had rather not know), gave relief to able- 
bodied persons without work. The Assistant-Commissioner asked 
him how that could be legal. " He informed me that he thought 
every labourer entitled to claim a certain sum per week for every 
child after the third; that he thought every man who had four 
children might fairly be held, in the sense of the Act of Elizabeth^ 
to be 'impotent;' and, in sliort. that he considered it impossible 
for any labouring man to support four children." 

Truly that well-to-do and long-enduring gentleman, Mr. John 
Bull, can bear anything, as he could stand this system for so 
many yeai-s. 

The conclusion to which I am tending has probably been 
guessed; but before stating it, -I will shghtly advert to the histoiy 
of the English Workhouse system. It is a curious history, and I 
beUeve far from having been fully told. 

There is useful information on this matter in an able Report to 
the Poor Law Commissioners, by the late Mr. Twisleton, on Local 

• Works, Ed. 1840, iv. 200. f Report of Commissioners of Inquiry, p. 87. 

: Ibid. 70—82. § Ibid. 75. 



JUafer Poor Relief, in 1843.' (Incidentally let me obeerve Low 
rtrong a case is niarle sgninBt the soundness and efficiency of 
ihe general law, by the mere existence of these many Local 
Attt, tucluding the great pemiiEisive Local Act bo well known ob 
'iilbert's Act. Wlienever there is a matter which is to be found 
alike in &11 parte of the country, to be dealt with by a general 
Ibw, atirl Local Acts are obtained to supplement or snpersede the 
will primral law. it rIjowb how uncomfortable and inadequate tliat 
law ia, and tliat the people are trying to ease the burden by a 
jmiieffium of this Bort.) 

Mr. Twisleton points out that the Act of Elizabeth gave no power 
In provide Worlthouaes ; and I suppose tliisis so, strictly speaking. 
liough I confess it eeeinB to me rather a narrow construction, 
lint, undoubtedly, before the Oth of Geo. L (1722) there was no 
iipresfi statutory enactment authorizing such provision. That 
-Hltnown as Sii- E. Knatchbull's Act, did give abHolnte power to 
the parish authorities, not only to procnre Worldiouses, but to 
('(inGne all relief within tliem. It was, in several details, a very 
fwUe enactment, as llr, Twisleton has shown : one only point 1 
iril! uoticc. that it gave power only to buy or hire, not to build. 
fforkhouecs. Rut even so I conceive tliat if it was really expected 
and mtended to have general and lasting opemtion, it was a mea- 
"iTv in advance of its age : and so poweifnl was the principle, 
even when so loosely applied as it was. that for a time at least it 
»«jnsto hiive had no small effect. Mr. Twisleton, perhaps with 
*ffl» piofesiidoual readiness to believe well of the rule which his 
(Vfitnon wore doing so niucli to revive and enforce, says that thi- 
Wmlchouses in tlioae daj-s were a i-eal and effective test of need. 
He produces a goodly list of places where the i-ate fell from 25 
to lis per cent. ; and I have noticed a bit of evidence iii Sir 
f. Edtm,t which he calls a -'letter from Oxford," in 172fi, four 
jeai* after this Act, wliich describes the effect of the Workhouse 
'.'*l«in exactly as we should do — " Some who received alms of the 
[*riiili strive to work, to keep imt of confinement." 

Mr. Twisleton tells us that it h&s often been believed that on 
'lit whole the Act of 1722 was fairiy operative, down to its 
'irtoal repeal in 1795. in keeping down Pauperism; and the Com- 
fiWonerB of Inqiuryt say, what comes to much the same, that 
w that period " parochial relief appears to have been given chiefly 
'trough tlie Worklioiisefi, and not to have extended to any 
"*side« tlie imjiotcnt." 1 cannot but suspect that both Mr. 
'*ialpton and the (JommiBsionei-s somewhat oveistate the cEise. 
"Seems to mc difficult to reconcile, in their view, with the aeries 
"f complaints to which I have above referred, extending through 

• Apr» lo lllU Tl.'nirl of Poor Law Coumii-^aioniTB, 1S43. p. ilC, itijii. 

t J mi. : P. 72. 


the whole centurj'^ ; and Mr, Twisleton himaelf (who has noticed 
one or two additional cries of distress of this kind) evidently 
doubts whether his own statement can be applied to more than a 
short time. 

It may,ho wever, be supported to some extent by what has always 
seemed to me a very curious and significant bit of traditionary evi- 
dence. How comes it that it is an expression in tmiversal and 
immemorial use about a poor man in danger of destitution — " He 
has no prospect before him but the Workhouse 1 " A hundred and 
sixty yeai-s ago there were no Workhouses ; and, for a long time 
before the memoiy of any of us the expression was utterly inaccurate, 
and perfectly well known to be. The poor man knows perfectly 
well that of the destitute reUeved» whether from idleness, old age, or 
anytliing else, not above one in four, or eight, or ten, or even some 
smaller proportion, is relieved in the Workhouse. My suspicion is, 
that it is a tradition drawn from the time I liave been speaking, 
the greater part of the eighteenth century, and that it does indi- 
cate a tolerably stringent execution of the law ; though no doubt 
even the discretionary power, which always has existed (except in 
so far as the Magistrates interfered with it under Sir W. Young's 
Act), to confine relief to the Workliouse, would alone have a per- 
ceptible effect on the working class. 

I \vill now at length state the practical conclusion at which I have 
arrived ; viz., that all Poor ReUef should be confined by law to the 
Workhouse. As in the case of the principle on which this rule 
rests, I doubt whether it will be found expressly recommended in 
its full breadth, by any tlircct and superior authority, though I 
have no doubt with some research it may be found scattered 
through the writings of the last forty years, and it is occasionally to 
be noticed, put incidentally and obiter, in the Reports of Assistant- 
Commissioners.* It is often said to be in the Report of 1834, 
but I do not think it is, except aH above mentioned. Mr. Longleyt 
limits himself to hophig that Indoor Rehef may become the rule, 
and Outdoor the exception — the converae of the actual state of 
things. Mr. Fawcett} speaks of the "ultimate abolition of out- 
door relief." 

My beUef is that the rule might be made absolute — ^I do not say 
innnediate. Mr. George Clive, who was Assistant Poor Law 
Commissioner just after the worst days, tells me that in those days 
so ingrained did the e^-il appear, that he used to thinlc no real 
reform could take full effect for thirtv or forty veare. I believe 
tliat now much less would suflice, and that with due notice to all 
concerned, an interval of about five years would be enough. 

♦, Mr. Culley, 3rd Report of Local Govommont Board, 1874, p. 75. 
t L'hi gap, p. 142. X P. 50. 

utne pooh la \y^. 


tllflAiiAt b» tteixtemlxjred fiiat no \&vi cau attempt to du what 
'» |ihyfiicaliy impoBeuMo ; and Again that, oa loug as tltc tVill 
[iijlrt Ni n-ljt-i" cswb*, then- must be occamonally ouomions enddcii 
i^tnot^csicie^ siicli rb gi'eat inundations, or Hvee. or famiiiiM, which 
Imk (town all nik-s. For an instanoe of tJie first : a man bn'aks 
Ittleff.ia' hia own bouse, la destitute, and oaniiot be moved; of 
Riuiw he must be tiliuved where ho is. ftf the second class. I 
UH^ not remind you of runuy i-eoent iustanoes. But, first, I woidd 
iGrtiaetly limit thf variationa to these spcoitic cases ; luid rn tho 
uiot, J- believe much might be done at such times by a diligoiit 
npitlicutiuii and (extension of the metliod, well known to the la^r, 
irf relief by way of loan. 

Speciallj- do I differ here, and here perhaps only, from Mr. 
Lan^ey, wbo* would allow out-door relief to be ^ven as "an 
iiiflulgencL- to desei'^'ing eases." So sound and complete do bis 
vimrB uit the Poor Law se^'m to me to be, tbat I Buspect these 
[>iuufp>s in his Heport to be intci'polatioiiB, and tbat an enemy 
Itetl) done it; if not. they are to me as from tbc' pen of a fallen 
MgeL J eonceive it to be absolutvly fatal to right principle to 
inlimluce ijUeetions of merit into thu bare relief of deetitataon, 
vdtieh. it must be over ajid over again saiiiia the one and aoUoh^ec^ 
li tii« l*w. To say no more, it is plain that when you admit iiuus- 
tiftw of charaeter. you do pro tunto, and very poworfully, infringe 
|« yoHr iwirdiuat piinoipk-, ^^z., tu lead the working class to look 
iiwy fr«n) the Poor Law. and not to it. Certaidy it is a some- 
«'hat luituanized uppliuation of the text, but it in qnitc true, tliat 
lliislow sendfi its beucfiti^. such as tliey arc. " on the just and ou 
IW uiywat." 

1 Ltlievo much illuBtration may be drawn to this subject, and 
cipwially to wliat I have just mentioned, temporary relaxation in 
unpracticablo emergencies, from a most interueting inquiiy which 
"iiBtt he made, but wliicli I have not been nblu to attompt, and 
*liieli would net'd and well repay a sopamtc and careful effort, 
'Iwt into tho Scotch and Irish Poor Laws, compared ^-ith thi' 
Knglish, The framera of the Iiish law, warned by long experience, 
'lawdit, among other things, on twn most efficient principles : tUi.' 
iJjAuieo of the fettering and unnatural system of pai-ocliial or local 
iJi'ttlfmvQt, aud the absence of Out-door Relief. The potato famine, 
aud I believe other circumstances, have occasionally conipclkd. 
Old still eometjjnes and here and there compel, some relaxation; 
hut still the main principle is carefully upheld as a rule. In 
ScAtlaiid, an equally recent Poor Law has been estabhsbed, on a 
different, and, I believe, wholly imtonable basis. The right to 
rt'Iii'f was denied entirely tn the able-bodied — a view which has 




been advocated by Mr. Davison* and others, and which has I 
superficial plauBibility, but which is surely abfiuid. If the law 
stands on the simple ground of hnmanitj-, that no one diall starvt.^ 
or die of cold, how can it admit of any exceptions whatever ''. 
For the rest, partial out-door relief is the rule and not the 
exception. And though I am not able to quote any recent 
atatemeut, I find, on good authority, that in 1860 the operation of 
the two systemB had led to the following results : — In Scotland, the 
pauper growth of a few years was about equal in its proportions 
to the inveterate PauperiBm of centimes in England, four per cent, 
on the population. In Ireland it was one and a half per cent. In 
England, the cost per head was 5s. 7^d. on the population ; 
Scotland, 4s. 2d. ; in Ireland, 28. 2|d.t 

A Scotch Poor Law was inevitable; aa Mr. Carlyle eaid, ' 
land, too. mnst have its Poor Law." From whatever cause, d 
tution there had reached a pitch which diegraced humanity; ifww' 
said that an old woman there was sometimes found living on 6d. 
a week. But it was nut the Scotch poor who called for the law ; 
their strong and resolute character made tlieni suffer in silence. 
" They had hetUr starve," said the late Lord Campbell t<i mo of 
some Highland famine, " than nish on the rehef fund aa the Irisli 
do." And most suggestive, most ominous, are the two followiug 
passages ; the one from Evidence given by Mr. Briscoe, Superin- 
tendent under the Scotch Poor Law : " Outnloor relief in the 
Highlands has deteriorated tnith, industry, morahty, self-respect, 
self-reliance, the natural affections, independence of choractcr; it 
appears as if the whole of the humbler classes had completely 
changed their character. There is no shame whatever in demand- 
ing relief, even among some of higher station. The state of things 
in the Highlands is perfectly deplorable, and every person sdi 
it."f And this, after a few years of any Poor Law at allfc 
may almost remind one of the lines in the " Christian Year "f^ 

" 'T*iiB but fan Unto drop of ma 
Wi> BOW this tnoniing enter In, 
Ani-l lo ! at eTentide the irorlil is dromie J," 

The other is from the recent Report of the Friendly Sod 
Commission : || " There is a grooving class in Scotland vfhC 
that they need not insure in any friendly society, as tJiel 
Law provides them with a certainty of sick pay." 

I Bay then the Workhouse ; and. I must add, the Wnrkhom 

I Mr. Chndwiok : '■ CwnpnratiTfi Results of Poor L»w AdminUtnitioB il. ^ „__ 

IreLiDd, ruid Scotland," (IHiU), pp. 7, S, 13. TLii is anfflo^ieat authority lor tba orl; 
working of the new Uws, and thiit in enough for mj purpose. But t bellovii llmt, rinra 
Cho date of tbo pamphlet, matters in Irelaud huve got worse, tad in Seotlaud 1 hop* ttwtljw 
h»»o improved. 

I Cbadwick, p. 13. f Sf^xojrciima. || P, escT, 

THE POOR LA WS. , 187 

the same general principle to all its inmates. I have often been 
astonished to hear intelligent advocates of sound principle in thi^ 
Poor Law say that the Workhouse should be an engine of a 
mongrel character — nay, of two opposite characters — deterrent to 
the able, inviting and encouraging to the old and infinn. I hold, 
without disguise, that it should be repellent to all. The Pauperism 
of the able has no doubt its peculiar malignancy ; but to eveiy 
one whatever most of its evils, as above detailed, apply equally, and. 
indeed, some more peculiarly to the old and infirm — ^the discourage- 
ment of industry and forethought, the extortion of what one needs 
from others often nearly as poor as oneself — above all, the destine- 
tion of the sense of duty among kindred.* 

Now, I wish to keep as near as may be to my main staple, 
and I must not be tempted to dwell on many important advantages 
of the Workhouse system : the extreme simpUfication of adminis- 
tration — and, no doubt, those who have to administer the law 
must guard themselves against being too much biassed by this, by 
the prospect of rehef at a blow from the endless perplexities and 
puzzles of the present state of things ; the immediate and total 
elimination of many difficult, indeed, almost insoluble questions, 
such as how to deal with cases of voluntary pensions to which the * 
recipient has no claim at all, but which he is certain always to 
receive, the question of paupers' membership of Benefit Societies, 
and many others. One only I will more particularly notice, chiefly 
to draw attention to the very able treatment of it in Mr. LongleyV 
Report.t In a well-ordered Workhouse alone are you sure of 
giving exclusive relief, and exclusive relief is the oiily relief which 
you can be sure is neither inadequate nor excessive. There tln^ 
work is all in your own hand, and under your own eye ; you can 
tell exactly what each inmate should have, and you can be sure 
that he gets it, and that he gets no more than it. In out-door 
reUef, you order rehef to A ; in itself, it is almost certain to bi' 
unequal as between him and B, C, D, &c. ; you cannot tell how 
far it is supplemented by alms, or by secret hoarding ; it is nearly 
sure to be too nmch or too little ; and lastly, as we well know 
in practice, there is too much reason to fear that the relief given 
is not always enjoyed, but is al)8tmctcd from the supposed 
recipient by others, generally members of his own family. 

But to return. I conceive that it is plain in itself, and long ago 
demonstrated by experience, that the Workhouse alone enables us 
to comply with the full requirements of the law, while attaining; 
the object that Pauperism shall be distasteful to the pauper. As 
for those who cannot work, surely this is self-evident ; you must 

See Report of Poor Law CommisBionors, 1839 ; qnotod by Mr. Longlov, p. 187 
Pp. 168, 169, And elsewhere. 


give enough to support life and health, and, in unconditional 
relief, what means have you of combining that with the deterrent 
principle ? For those who can work, of course there is the 
plausible-looking expedient of jindinf/ work by the pubhc. To 
this large cliapter in the histoiy of the subject I have already 
referred. I will barely allude to thewell-knoAvn objections to the 
attempt, such as that long ago indicated by Defoe :* " For everj' 
skein of woi-sted spim" (by paupere) "a skem the less is spun by 
Home poor person that spun it before." 

Perhaps the most respectable-looldng of these plans for an arti- 
ficial supply of work is that known as the ** Labour-Rate" system ; 
and it shows how false notions had become inveterate on these sub- 
jects, that the Commissioners of Inquiry thought it necessary, 
through nearly twenty foHo pages, to oppose argimients in favour of 
Fiabour-liutes wliich seem to us mere fallacies, by arguments which 
seem to us mere truisms.t But I must just point out that the 
labour-test, as it is called, simply in itself, and not combined with 
the AVorkliouse, plainly cannot fulfil the indispensable condition of 
relative distastefulness compared ^vith ordinary labour: not in 
<iuaUty, for many fully adequate forms of Uvelihood are already as 
unpleasant as possible ; not in amomit of pay, for if the parish 
pay were put materially below the market rate, it would obviously 
not be enough to live upon. 

Objections to the Workhouse on the groimd of hardship, such as 
were incessant in and out of Parliament thirty years ago, I can 
but slightly notice. But I may point out how absolutely neces- 
sary it is, if.tlie law is to give effect to the principle I have been 
maintaining, that there should be such objections. The law is U\ 
provide the physical necessaries of life. Now, what are they? 
Only three — food, lodging, clothing. The law does, in fact, pro- 
vide much more than these physical things : but take these alone. 
Is it not manifest and inevitable that in all these respects, apart 
from other nvcnmstances^ the pauper in the AVorkhouse shall be 
hettei\ and not woi-se, 06", than the average of independent 
labourers outside ? If, then, that were all, our principle would 
simply break down. It follows therefore that the adjtmcts of 
these mere necessaries must be that in which the repellent 
element shall be foimd. And we must clearly recognize the fact 
that it is so, and that it is well that it is. If ever, accord- 
ing to the insane Avish we sometimes hear expressed, the Work- 
house were to be made, as a legal tender of relief, attractive, or 
not unatti-active, to the unskilled labourer, I know not to what we 
could have recourse. 

It is unattractive ; and we loiow how it is so. The mere fact of 

* Quoted by Sir F. Edeu, i. 2G1. f Pp. 108—126. 



rmfinWriMit, tlie coitimoii niles of discipline aud good order, tho 
pr(!M!ribe>d regidarity. ay, tlie compulsory clfauliuess, are dU- 
tastcful to tlip population from wliicli paupers are drawn. Mort- 
ii<:riouB lianUhip may be found in such special poiutx us used to 
Iw 80 contiuimlly dwelt Upon — the breaking-up of homoB. and. 
tthnvc all, the siparation of fanjilies. But before dwelling a littli- 
on ^ese, Itit me recall wliat used to be a meet hackneyed saying-. 
\\Tiat! do yoii treat poverty db a crime? 

I believe tin? saying ib a most fallaoioua one. For the momeiit 
s'jtting aside the vital difference between Poverty and PauperiHin. 
I conceive the accurate statement to be this — and we mnst bear 
in mind that we are ,only spealdug of what the law does — not that 
vetn-at poverty as a crime, but that we jmcl it a migforlitne, and 
Itan it M* By poverty I do not mean anything relative, but 

Ilivtrcss. Now, no doubt, poverty, in all its forais, has its* 
of special blessing under conditions. But tiiat is equally 
ii\ suffering whatever : and it lias never been inferred from 
it sufferings are not evils, or that we do not well to avert 
far as we can. We are thus brought back to where wc 
id say that we are going against the order of P^o^^dence 
guarantee by law, to those who are peculiarly hable to 
, that it shall not be ilistreas, and exempt them from all 
stimulus to keep themselvee from it. 

And, of course, all this is only strengthened when we apply it 
t» Pnwperisni, which is not simply the extreme fonu of poverty', 
bnt poverty charged with the peculiar nnschiefa which we have 
'li^iibcd — mischiefs artificially impressed upon it by express 
Wiactment, inherent in all forms of the legal claim to relief aud 

To revert, then, to such privations as separation of htrabaudp 
ttd Vp-JTt'S. I admit that there are some such which are beyond 
we region of merely salutary discipUne. and. as }>ennatient arraugc- 
vumtB, we could not look on them as admiasible. But we mnst 
nnivmber that the law does not require titat sepiiratiou in the casf 
of tie aged ; aud tliat it* whole intent is that such a state of things 
*liall (k>( bc' permanent, but only t^nporaiy. I do jiot thuik the 
■•w ean do more ; and if still sueh hardships should remain, or any 
other incidental to a severe adininistratiou of the Poor Law, 1 
DeKcvc we must have recourse to that other, uon-legal, provision- 
"pou which I miuit still detain the reader for a short time before 
toDchiJing tin's Paper. 

For. long aa it has been, lam sure any one would be surprised ii 
1 Itft tlie subject here. I certainly do not suppose that the time wilt 

* Sines wiiiing Ih!) I Imve (ounJ in n roriboftmmg MnniDir of Lord . 
" twd di* tame exprFuioa in IntrotiuciBg to PirilntOBnl Iho Poor Law of 

Lord Altfaorp, I 


ever come when our Poor will be in two classes only, the inde- 
pendent, and the inmates of Workhouses. I believe there will 
always be a large number between these classes ; and I look — I 
should expect that all would look — for needful aid to these, to 
voluntary benevolence. The Commissioners of Inquiry have 
sometimes been imjustly accused of meaning to prohibit alms- 
giving. They and others have spoken of preventing mendicancy 
— quite another thing. The operation of Charity, as concurrent 
and, indeed, co-operating, with the Poor Law, has been expressly 
recognized by them and by their best followers.* 

But it is true that almsgiving has been denounced, in almost 
imquaUfied terms. Mr. Fawcett does not go this length, while 
ably showingt the danger there would be in leaving the whole 
care of distress to voluntary effort, without any legal provision. 
But Mr. Greg.J for instance, denounces almsgiving with hardly any 
qualification. I say " hardly any," foi*, Hke so many writers of his 
school, it is not always easy to pin him to a perfectly consistent 
statement. Almsgiving means simple giving, " hoping for nothing 
in return ;" and Mr. Greg says, ** Almsgiving is a mischief and a 
sin;" "almsgiving is bad;" Scripture "distinctly prohibits alms- 
giving." But elsewhere he hedges^ thus — " The more literally the 
precept * give' is obeyed, the more hann it does;" ^^ nearly all 
charity, popularly so called, is noxious;" ^^ charitable endowmenU 
difiuse pauperism;" ^^ ifidiscrimincUe and systematic charity" are 

Here is a considerable difference. But, however, we have in 
this to meet the obvious answer, when we speak of consigning a 
large region of relief to private charity, What have you gained ? 
How is that better than out-door reUef ? 

Now I have not left myself time to go very fully into this, nor 
does it seem necessary in the -vdew of this Paper. I desire to 
recognize a considerable amount of truth in such statements and 
arguments as Mr. Greg's. If we look at his more guarded words, 
*^ indiscriminate^* almsgiving — indeed, indiscriminate almost any- 
thing — is self-condemned eju vi termini. But I fully admit the 
special hazard that exists in systematic charity simply for the 
reKef of poverty. One particular form of it I have been called 
on to be veiy conversant with for some years — ^permanent en- 
dowments for simple relief — what are often called "Dole Charities." 
I cannot but hope that public opinion will more and more be 
in favour of varying the appUcation of these, as the law now 
specially allows us to do, to some more enlightened and really 
useful purpose for the lower classes. 

I also admit that there is much of what Mr. Greg terms " stupid 

* Report of Commissioners of Inquiry, 147. Mr. Longley, 144-6, 185-6| 800. 
t Pp. 50—56. X " Creed of Christendom," 3rd Ed. I Ixi—lxvL 



litenliBin " in our way of dcaUiig with bohig well-known texta. It 
a quite true that if a nmu conld give up time, labour, money, to 
ritarity of any kind, of which the efl'eet would be to elevate tlio 
timditioii of the Poor in any real way, though he gave nothing at 
al! in direct alma, he would be obej-ing the Gospel precepts iu 
ihcit Hpirit. 

But the truth 18, that all this, pushed to any gi-eat lengtli, 
i» vfiy unineaniiig and luireal. Mr. Greg will never persuade 
ChriBtendora to give up aluisgiving, any more thau he will get 
thMii to accept the riddled and sifted retvluum of the Gospel 
wHch he calls the pure essence of Christiauity, and of which it 
uxais that he and a few others have tlie exclusive possession.* 
Hot, I fear, as long as men are men — still more, as long as women 
are Tomen — shall we ever get rid of a good deal of misdirected 
and mischievous almsgi\~ing. 

All we can really do is to refftilatf, as well as we can, voluntaiy 
relief, as we have done and are doing with oompulsorj' rehef. 
Bill I say regulate as a very general term, hi some respects the 
priuciples of the two are not only different, but opposite. And it 
in DG paradox to say that, in some important senses, strict regula- 
tion is the object in legal relief, the absence of it in iiidividual 
ami voluntary relief. 

The more any funds, and the system of administciing them, 
for simple charitable relief, approach to being hardened and 
etifened into a formal and legal system like that of a Poor Law, 
Ihe wgree. The more the Poor are allowed to believe that there 
is flomewhere at hand a fund on which they can ultimatt-ly bo 
virtually fure, each one of them, to be able to draw for the supply 
•'f what it is their own primary duty to provide for themselves, 
l!ie Worse. A'ecCMtft/ is the basis of a Poor Law ; disn-rtton to 
?ive or to withhold, with the uninviting prospect of the bare 
l«^t pro^Tsion in the background, ought to be one vital principle 
ofvoloutftry charity. 

Ill abort, though it may not be all we could wish, we may 
■» content as long as we bear in mind this broad fact as the 
gfoiUid of the whole distinction, and constituting the need that 
*ucli distinction shoidd bo maintained, between a Poor Law and 
*Il other sj'Htoms of Relief, that under the one there is an abeo- 
'umegal, universal, claim of rijr/ii to maintenance, in the other 
"iWe IB not. 

' Innjil take this opportunitv ol Baying that haviaa Intply, in tliU Behew, Bpokoa 
In inn[iiiiliaed ailniiralioa of Mr. QreR'fl toaa of writing. nnJ hnviuK sinco become 
Ki|Kiiut.-il K ilh hia Iwok cillod the " Creed of Chrislendom," I must, not incieod with- 
'ir», but mndify that expression. See, for iogtaace, L cvii., whoralie cslU tlie doctriaa 
"fUiir[l..itvot CkriMaa " unworthy pnerilitr"(!). It would, iudend, matter littla what 
liul duclriie w»» nulled, if, u Mr. Grog BQ»peot«(ii. IGfl, note), no one Wli^vml it. ThcM 
w* ■I'viiowu of Hio gpntte " SMuranco " which often occurs in tiio book. 


If a liew system, as I have, suggested^ were annbunoed as io 
come in force after five years, I should fully expect that that 
interval would give rise to much further organization, and prepa- 
ration for the development, of private charity. I could only hope 
that such organization would follow the lines of such as the 
Charity Organization Society and the Parochial Mission Women 
Fund ; and that the great mass of individual and unorganized 
benevolence that would exist besides mi^t more and more be 
guided by care, judgment, and intelligence. 

The principle of compulsory reUef is negative, of voluntary is 
positive ; of the one to avert evil, of the other to produce good ; 
the one is corporate, the other, personal ; the one is and ought to 
be, in its essence, hard, inflexible, grudging and of necessity, 
with but Uttle to evoke the better and tenderer feeUngs on either 
side ; the other can bless both him who gives and him who 
receives, calls forth the gratitude which the other deadens, is of 
gentle and loving aspect ; the one deters, the other attracts ; the 
one is hiunan, the other Christian. 



A PAPER contributed to the Contemporakt Review for 
October, 1874, under the title of "Ritual emd Ritualism," 
elicited, togeUier with many expressiouB of interest and approval, 
many also of disappointment. There seemed to have been an 
opectatioD that the essay might iintie, or cut, the knot of the 
i]De8tionH which had been eo warmly, if not fiercely, agitated 
during the preceding eeesion of Parliament. But it had no such 
ambitioue aim. Its object was, within the limited sphere of my 
meanB, eimply to dispose men towards reflection, to substitute for 
the temper of the battle-field, good as in its place that may 
be, the temper of the chamber, where we commune ■with our 
own hearts, and are still. And tide was done for two reasons : 
the first, because all true meditation is dispaseionate, and a dis- 
passionate mood is the first indispensable condition for the reso- 
lotioii of controversies ; the second, because there seemed to me 
to be real dangers connected, in the present day, with the merely 
^Aionable accumulation of ritual, more subtle and very much 
Wore widely spread than the pronoimced manifestations which 
"*i recently been eo much debated. 

The season is now tranquil ; the furnace, no longer fed by the 
rael of Parliamentary contentions among the highest authorities, 
«*a grown cool, and may be approached with safety, or, at least, 
^th diminished risk. Those who opposed the Ecclesiastical Titles 
M, in 1851, in some cases had for Uieir reward (as I have r' 

VCtt- XXTI. 


to loiow) paragraphs iu " religious " newspapers, stating ^nnS^ 
Btantiallj- that they had joined the Church of Rome. Tlioee who 
questioned the PubUc Worship Act, in 1874, were more mildly, 
but as summarily, pimisht-d iu being set dowa as Ritualists. In 
the heat of the period, it would have been mere folly to dispute 
the justice of the *• tictetiiig," or classification. Perhaps it maj' 
uow be allowed me to say, that I do not approach this question 
as a partiean. Were the question one between historical Christi- 
aaity and systems opposed to or divergent from it, I could not 
honestly profess that I did not take a ade. But as regards ritual, 
by which I understand the exterior forms of Di\-ine worship, I 
have never, at auy time of my life, been employed hi promoting 
its extension ; never engaged in any either of its general or ita 
local controversies. In the question of attendance at this church 
or that, I have never been governed by the abundance or the 
scantiness of its ritual, which I regard purely as an instrument, 
aiming at an end ; as one of many instnmients, and not as the 
first among them. To uphold the integrity of the Christjan 
dogma, to trace its working, and to exhibit its adaptation to 
human thought and human welfare, in all the varying experience 
of the ages, is, in my view, perhaps the noblest of all task* which 
it is given to the human mind to pursue. This is the guardiao- 
ahip of the great fountain of human hope, happiness, and virtoe. 
But with respect to the clothing, which the Gospel may tako to 
itaelf, my mind has a large margin of mdulgeuce, if not of laadty, 
both waj-8. Much is to be allowetl, 1 can hardly say how much, 
to national, sectional, and pereonal divergences, and to me it is 
indeed grievous to thiuk that auy range of liberty which -vaa re- 
spected in the storm of the mxteenth centuiy should be denonnoed 
and threatened in the comparative calm of the nineteenth. Rave- 
rence, indeed, is a thing indispensable and invaluable; but reverence 
is one thing, and ritual another ; and while reverence is preserved, I 
would never, according to my own inclination individually, quarrel 
with my brother about ritual. Nothing, therefore, would be eaaer 
than for me, after the manner of those who affect imparriality, to 
censure sharply the faults wliich, from (mr elevated point of view, 
we detect on both sides. Nothing easier, but few things more 
mischievous; forwhatisimpartiaUtybetween the two, is often gtOBS 
partiality and one-sidedness in the judgment of eacK by re«Bon of 
its ruthlessly shutting out of view those kernels of truth which 
are probably on both sides to he fomid under the reepcctiro boski 
of warring prejudice. 

Without, however, any assumption of the tone of the critic ot 
the pedagogue, there is one recommendation which may he 
addressed to both parties iu the controversy of ritualism. ^BImpi 
should surely be exliorted to eoaso altogether, or at least to ^MHI 


totte miiiimimi, the practice of impnrting into questionBcouceming 
ihfl externals of religion the element of devotional aigiiificance. 
Tbe phraee ia borrowed from a pamphlet by Dr. Trevor,* wlucH 
boare the stamp, not only of ability, but of an independent mind^ 
Tlie topic is, in my belief, of deep moment. It cajinot, perhaps, lie 
more effectively illustrated than by a reference to the particular 
Itticle of ritual which has been, more than any other, the Bubject of 
Rocnt contest — namely, the question whether, during the prayer 
of consecration in the Office of Comoiunion, the priest shall stand 
villi his fiice towards the east, or towards the south. 

By some mental process, which it seems difficult for an un- 
toatted Bnderstjiudiug to comprehend, a controversy, which may 
tlmoBt be called furious, has been raised on tliis matter. It of 
COUffie transcends— indeed, it almost scorns — the bounds of the 
Dsrrower question, whether the one or the other posture is agree- 
tble, or, aa may perliape better be said, is more agreeable, to the 
Isga] prescriptions of the rubrics. For it is held, and held on 
bflth rides by peraous ni:it inconsiderable either in weight or 
ttOmber, that, if tbe priest looks eastwards at this point of the 
SMvice, he thereby affirms the doctrines of the Real Pruseuce and 
the Encharistio Sacrifice, but that, if on the contrary he takes his 
pl»ee at the north end of the altar or tabh-. he thereby puts a 
negative on those doctrines. If the tnith of this contoation be ad- 
mitted, witbciut doubt the most formidable consequences may then 
lie ipprehended from any possible issue of the debate. It is idle 
Inbope that even judges can preserve the balance of their minds 
'rfieu the air comes to be so thickly charged with storm. We may 
ttfalmost with certainty that there are many now recl^oned as 
Biembera of the Chnrc-h of England, wliom, on the one side, the affir- 
mation of those principles would distract and might displace, while, 
I'll the other, their negation would precipitate a schism of an enduring 
character. But if this be even partially true, does it not elevate 
into u) imj>erinus duty, for all right-minded men, tliat which is 
« iteelf a mle of reason — namely, that we should steadily resolve 
lot til annex to any particular acts of external usage a special 
dogmatic interpretation, so long as they will naturally and un- 
MOrtinincdly bear Hume sense not entailing that consequence t 

Sow, it seems quite evident that, in the present instance, the 
toatcntions of each of the two parties are perfectly capable of 
wing explained and supported upon grounds having no reference 
to the doctrines, with which they have been somewhat wilfiilly 
plicod in a connection as stringent as that of the folds of the boa- 
"•wfrirtffr. Take, for example, the case in favour of what we may 
be aSctwed to call orientation. The bishops at the Savoy Con- 

^^^H " " Tn-vor's Disputed HiilpriBa " (Parker), pp. 13 .lail tC'/i. 


ference laid down the principle, as one founded in general pro- 
priety and reason, that when the minister addresses the people he 
should turn himself towards them, as, for example, in preaching 
or in reading the lessons from Holy Scripture ; but that when, for 
and with them, he addresses himself to God, there is solecism and 
incongruity in his being placed as if he were addressing them. 
The natural course, then, they held to be, that congpregation and 
minister, engaged in a common act, should, unless conformity 
between the inward and the outward is to be entirely e:q>elled 
from the regulation of human demeanour, look together in a 
common direction. When this is done by a clergyman reading 
the Litany at a faldstool, he commonly turns his back on part of 
the congregation, and part of the congregation on him. When 
the same rule is followed in the prayer of consecration, the back 
of the clergyman is turned towards the entire congregation only 
from the circumstance that he officiates at the extreme east end of 
the church. The proper idea of the position is, not that he turns 
his back on the congregation, but that, placed at the head of the 
congregation, and acting for as well as with them in the capacity 
of the public organ of the assembled flock, he and they all turn in 
the same direction, and his back is towards the whole only as the 
back of the first line of worshippers behind him is towards all 
their feUow-worshippers. He simply does that, which every one 
does in sitting or standing at the head of a coliunn or body of 
men. And if he be a believer in the Real Presence and the 
Eucharistic Sacrifice, woe be to him in that capacity, unless he 
has some other and firmer defence for these doctrines than the 
assumed symbolism of an attitude that he shares with so many 
Protestant clergymen of Continental Europe, who are known to be 
boimd but little to the first, and are generally adverse to the second 
of these doctrines. Thus, then, we have, in a particular view of the 
mere proprieties of tlie case, a perfectly adequate explanation of 
the desire to assume the eastward position, without any reference 
whatever to any given doctrinal significance, be it cherished or 
be it obnoxious. Let us now turn to the other side of the ques* 
tion, and see whether similar reasoning Avill not hold good. 

It does not follow, upon the expulsion of this transcendental 
element from the discussion, that the objector to the plan of facing- 
eastwards is left ^vithout a case, which again is one of simple 
poKcy and expediency, from his own point of view. He may, like 
many of his coimtryraen, be so wanting in the rudiments of the 
aesthetic sense, as to think that the most advantageous position 
for a Christian pastor towards the people is that in which he 
speaks all the prayers straight into their faces, and the best 
arrangement for the flock that of the double pews, in which they 
are set to look at one another through the service, in order to 


cortect, by mutnal contemplation, any excessive tendency to i-apt 
and colloeted devotion. But it is not neceeaary to impute to him 
Ha imtianal frame of mind. He may admit tliat in the act of 
praver, ak a nde, miniBter and people may advantageously look in 
the same direction. He may rennnnco the imputation upon his 
kdremanes that, by facing eastwnrds, tliey express adhesion to 
certain doctrines. And he may still point out that there is moie 
tel)e Mid. The prayer of consecration is a prftyer not of petition 
OB^, but of action too. In the course of it, by no leas than five 
pHCnthetical lubricH, the priest is directed to perform as many 
maiiulaots; and. quite apart from the legal argument tlint the 
nftrencc in the principal rubric to brea,kiiig the bread before the 
pwple requires the action to be performed in their view, he may 
WDtond, if he thinks fit, that for the better comprelienwon of tJie 
wrrioe, it is well that they should have the poiver of w eiug all 
ftat b required of tlie priest respecting the handling of the sacred 
demente, and that this cannot be seen, or cannot so well be seen, 
ifie &ceB eastwards, as if, standing at the north end of tlio holy 
lable, he faces towards the south. I do not enter into the question 
iHrether this argument be conclusive, either as to the legal 
Biteiprftation of the rubric, with which at present we have 
nnthlng to do, or as to the advantage of actual view and tlie 
(ompamtive facilities for allowing it. It is enough to show that 
argumentH may be made in perfect good faith, and free from any- 
tinng irrational, against as well as for the eastward pnaition. 
ffilhont embracing the embittering element of doctrinal eignifi- 
ouee ; that both from tho one side and the other the question 
My be reasonably debated on general grounds of religious 
npftdiency. For if this be so, it becomes in a high degree impo- 
litic, and injurious to the interests of religion, to fasten upon 
these queatione of position, whether in the sense of approval or of 
ifjradiation, significations which they do not require, and which 
tWwill only so far bear that, by prejudice or associBtion. we 
cm continually give to words and things a colour they do not of 
ftauselves possess. There are surely enongh real occasions for 
^nnt^ntion in the world to satisfy the most greedy appetite, with- 
wrt adding to them those which are conventional — that is to say, 
those where the contention is not upon the things themselves, hiit 
T^D the constructions which prejudice or passion may attach to 
^tiurm. Surely if a Zuinglian oould persuade himself that tho 
AhgllBh Coramonion Office was founded upon the basis of Zuin- 
^Baa ideas, ho would act weakly and inconsistently should he re- 
*oqiice the ministry of the Church because he was ordered to face 
.JWttW^rdii during the prayer of consecration ; and at least as 
iwould one, believing in the Catholic and primitive character 
~" be open to similar blame if he in like manner repu- 


diated his function as a priest upon being required to take hisplaeo' 
only on the north. Preferences for the one or the other position it- 
is easy to conceive. To varying ideas of worship — and in thes^- 
later times the idea of worship does materially vary — ^the one or 
the other may seem, or may even be, more thoroughly conformable ; 
but strange indeed, in my view, must be the composition of th^ 
mind which can deUbei-ately judge that the position at the north 
end is in itself irreverent, or that facing towards the east is iii 
itself superstitious. Both cannot be right in a dispute, but both 
may be wrong ; and one of the many ways in which this comee 
about is when the thing contended for is, by a common oonsent 
in error, needlessly lifted out of the region of things indifferent 
into that of things essential, and a distinction, founded originally 
on the phantasy of man, becomes the articulua atantis out cadentU 

It sometimes seems as though, even in the tumult of the Reform 
mation, when the fountains of the great deep were broken up^ 
the general mind must yet have been more solid and steadier — 
perhaps even more charitable — ^than now; though the edge of 
controversies at that . epoch was physical as well as moral, and 
involved, at every sweep of the weapon, national defence and the 
safety or peril of life and limb. Members of the CShurch of 
England, even now somewhat irreverent as a body with reference 
to kneeling in ordinary worship, are nevertheless all content to 
kneel in tiie act of receiving the Holy Communion; a most 
becoming, most soothing, -most fraternal usage. General censure 
would descend upon the man who should attempt to disturb it by 
alleging that this humble attitude of obeisance too much favoured 
the idea of paying worship to the consecrated elements* No lesB 
certainly, and even more sharply, would he be condemned who, 
himself beUeving in the Real Presence, should endeavour to foi:oe 
it home on others as the only key to the meaning of the usage. 
But who can fail to see that for minds, I will not say jaundioed, 
but preoccupied with the disposition to attach extreme con- 
structions to outward acts in the direction in which they seem to 
lean, nothing is more easy than to annex to the kneeling attitude 
of the receiver iu the Holy Eucharist the colour and idea of 
adoration of the consecrated elements I So, also, nothing would 
be more difficult than, when once such a colour has been ao 
annexed, again to detach it effectually, and thus to bring the 
practice to an equitable judgment. Yet the Church of England, 
which has xmitedly settled down upon the question of kneeling 
at reception, has resolutely thrust aside the extreme con- 
struction through which a baleful concurrence of opposing 
partisans, might have rendered it intolerable. And this she did, 
carrying this practice without shock or hesitation through all 


%B flttctuntions of her Litwrgy, dnring timeB when theological 
wintroverer was exasperated by every mmidane passion which 
either the use of force, or its anticipation, can arouse. It ivi!! 
indeed be strange — should we not rather say it will indeed be 
(bamcfol — if, after conducting the desperate struggles of the 
Reformfttion to their issue, and when we have realized its moral 
and twcial fniits for three centuries and a half, we prove to be bo 
nneh leas wisy and less forbearing than our loss civilized and 
i^ed forefathers, that we arc to be led, by an aggravated misuse 
of fliis practice of gratuitous eonstruction. to create a breach upon 
k question bo much lees difficult, so much lees calling for or 
rartanting (txtrerae issuea, than that which tliey proved them- 
selves able to accommodate ? 

It may indf ed be said, and not untruly, that in a certain eenee 
both the friends and the adversaries of the practice I liave been 
caniddering «re agreed iu attaching to it the meaning I presume to 
deprecate. Where both parties to a suit are agreed, it is idle, we 
DiT be t^fld. to dispute what they concur in. Now the very 
pfjnt I desire to bring into clear view is that this is not a suit 
Witt two partieB to it, but that many, perhaps most, of those who 
ire entitled to be heard, are not before the court ; many — aye, 
Dinltitudei — who think either this question should be let aloue, or 
tliat if it is not let alone, it should be decided upon dry and cold 
WDsderationH of law, history, and science, so far as they are 
fonod to inhere in it ; not judged by patches of glaring colour, 
the aymbols of party, which are fastened upon it from without. 
If this be a just view, the concurrence of the two parties named 
»bove in their construction of the eastward position is no better a 
*ta3n for the acquiescence of the dispassionate community, than 
tbs Bgreement of two boys at a pubhc school to fight, in order to 
Wwrtain who is the strongest, is a reason against the interference 
<if bj-Etandcrs to stop them if they can. 

Thert is in pohtical life a pmctice analogous, as it seems to me, 
to thu practice of importuig doctrinal mgnificaijce into discussions 
upon ceremonial. It is indeed a very common fashion to urge that 
wmething, in itself good and aUowable, has become bad and iuad- 
niiaible on account of motives imputed to those who ask it. The 
RtfoaoB proposed in 1831 and 18fi6 were not to be conceded, because 
liwy WOTiId be used as levers for ulterior extensions of the fran- 
'^m. The Irish Church was not to be disestabliahed, because the 
(^gft Would serve as an aignmeut for diaestablishhig the Church 
"fKn^and. Irish public-hiiuses must not be closed on Sunday 
•here the people desire it, for fear the measure should biing about 
• oxmlarcKisingin England, where public opinion is not ripe for 
t But then, in the secnlar world, this very practice is taken as 
th» indicatiou of an illiberal raiitd. and a shorUsighted policy. 


The truly liberal maxim has ever been that by grautiag just 
claims you disarm \mdue demands : that things should be judged 
as they are in themselves, and not in the extraneous considerations, 
and remote eventuaUties, which sanguine friends and bitter foes 
oftentimes agree in annexing to them. It is, therefore, with un- 
feigned surprise, that I read in the work of no mean writer on this 
rubrical controversy, that in May last he "prayed" that the priest 
might be allowed to face eastwards, but that he would now refuse 
it, because '^this eastward position is claimed for distinctively 
doctrinal purposes." I am reluctant to cite a respected name, 
but it is necessary to give the means of verifying my statement 
by a reference to Dr. Swainson's " Rubrical Question of 1874,"* 
pp. 1, 5. I might, I believe, add other instances of the same un- 
fortunate Une of thought, but it is needless. 

What, then, is the upshot of this extraordinary preference of 
the worse over the better, the more arbitrary over the direct and 
inherent construction? It is this, that it heats the blood and 
quickens the zeal of sympathizing partisans. But then it has exactly 
the same effect upon the partisans of the two opposite opinions. 
So that it widens breaches, feeds the spirit of mutual defiance, 
and affords, like abundant alcohol, an intoxicating satisfaction, to 
be followed by the remorse of the morrow when the mischief has 
been done. It enhances the difficulties of the judge's task, and 
makes hearty acquiescence in his decisions almost hopeless. 

Wherever this importation of doctrinal significance, I care not 
from which side, has been effected, it powerfully tends to persuade 
the worsted party that the law has been strained against him on 
grounds extraneous to the argument, and to drive him either upon 
direct disobedience, or upon circuitous modes of counteracting 
the operation of the judgment. Those against whom the letter 
of the law seems to be turned invidiously, are apt to think they 
may freely and justly avail themselves of it wherever it is in their 
favour. Supposing, for example, that, by a judgment appearing 
to rest on considerations of policy and not of law, the eastward 
position were to be condemned, who does not see that those who 
thought themselves wronged might discover ample means of com- 
pensation ? Some have contended that the clergy, sustcdned by 
their flocks, might retrench the services of the parish church; 
and, offering within its walls a minimum both of ritual and of the 
opportunities of worship, might elsewhere institute and attend ser- 
vices which, under a recent Statute (18 & 19 Vict. c. 86), many 
believe they might carry on without being subject to the restraints 
of the Act of Uniformity. 

Or again, in the churches themselves, where the clergyman was 

* But, at p. 70, Dr. Swainson, with great candour, states tliat, if the law be deolared 
adTersely to his view, he will at once renounce this imputation of doctrinal Big^nlfloanoe. 


forbidden to adopt a poeitiou construed as iraplj-ing an i 
rOTerunce, not he only, but. with certain inuauuity from couse' 
qU«ncee,lu0coiigrogationniight, mid proliably would, resort to other 
asternal acta, at least as offectiial for tlie same purpose, much more 
olcksely rehited to doctrinal significauce, much more conspicuous in 
theinfi<.'H'es,and. perhaps, much more offensive tofellow-worsliipper^ 
tluw the position which had been prohibited. What, upon either 
of* tbeee suppositiona would have been gained by the most signal 
victory in the courts, either for truth or for peace, or even for the 
fctetiQ^ and objects of those who would be called the winners 1 

J have dwelt at length on this particular subject, not because I 
imftgiiie the foregoing remarks to offer a solution of a difEiculty, 
but in order to point out and to avert, if possible, what would 
u^ce a solution impossible. The very first condition of healthy 
thought and action m an effort at self-mastery, and the expulsion, 
from the controversies concerning certain rubrics, of cousideratione 
which aggravate those controvei-sieB into hopelessness, and which 
seem to dwell in them, as demons dwelt in the bodies of the poa- 
sea»vd, til! they were expelled by tJie beneficent Saviour, and left 
the Bufferera at length restored to their right mind. If we caiiuot 
fulfil tliis first conation of sanity, it ie, I fear, hopeless to expect 
that the day of doom for the Church of England can be long 
postponed. It is bad enough in my opinion that wo should have 
to adjust these difficulties by the necessarily rude and coarse 
Jnachinery of courts. I do not disguise my belief, founded on very 
■«cg and rather anxious observation, that the series of penal pro- 
ceedings in the English Cliurch during the last forty years, which 
*2oBinienced with the action of the Univei-sity of Oxford agaiuBt 
%lhop Hampden, have as a whole been mischievous. 1 make no 
Accusation, in epeakiug thus, agaiust those who have promoted 
•hem. I will not say that they have been without provocation, that 
'•hey could easily liave been avoided, that they have been dis- 
Koaourably instituted, or vindictively puisued, I do not inquire 
"VlMitlkcr, wheu they have been strictly judicial, they have or have 
fcot generally added to the fame of our British .Judicature for power 
oi for leaniing. Unhappily they came upon a country little con- 
versant with theological, historicfll, or ecclesiastical science, and a 
country which had not been used for three hmidred years, with 
the rarest exceptions, to raise these questions before thu tribunals. 
Tliw only one of them, in which I liave taken a part, was the 
BDmniari,- proceeding of the Council of King's College against Mr. 
Uaurice. Imadeaniueffectualendeavour,withthestipport of Judge 
Pattvsun and Sir B- Brodie, and tlie approval of Bishop Blomficld. 
to dieck wlmt seemed to me the unwise and ruthless vehemence 
i>f the majority whicb dismissed that gentleman from Iiis office. It 
I maybe that in this or that particular case, a balance of good over 

and in- 
lflw hiafc"J 


evil may bave reaulted. It could not but be that in paitioiAlf 
inatancee some who would not. have wished them to be instituted, 
could not Maeh them to fail. But I have veiy loog been convinced 
that, as a whole, they have exasperated stiife and not compoeed it; 
have tempted meu to employ a substitute, at once violent and in- 
efficient, for moral and mental force ; have aggravated perils ivUd 
they -were honestly intended to avert ; have impaired confid 
and shaken the fabric of the Church to its foundations. 

The experience of half a centurj' ago may, in part, eeri 
illustrate an opinion which may have startled many of my reader^ 
but which long ago I entertained and made known in quarters of 
great influence. Nothing could be sharper than was at that time 
the animosity of Churchmen in general against what are termed 
Evangelical opiniocB. There was language used about them and 
their propofleiB in works of authority — such, for instance, as certain 
tracts of the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge — which 
was not only insolent, but almost libellous. But it seems that the 
Church took to heart the wise counsel, which Athene offered to 
AchilleB,that he should abuse Agamemnon, but not touch hira, "Fall 
foul of him with words, ag much as you have a mind ; but keep 
your sword within the scabbard." * The aword at that period was 
never drawn : and the controvei-sy settled itself in an advantageous 
way. Are we driven to admit that there was, among the rulere and 
the ruled of those days, more of parience, or of faith in i 
force, or both ; more of the temper of Gamaliel, and leee o 
temper of Saul? 

At a later date, it is true that Bishop Philpotts broke the 1 
tion of this pacific policy ui the case of Mr. Gorham, But all i 
knew that remarkable prelate are aware that he was a man of Hole 
action, rather tliau of counsel and concert; and it was an indi- 
vidual, not a body, which was resjionsible for striking the blow. i>f 
which the recoil fio seriously strained the Church of England. 

M'Irile frankly avo\ving the estimate I form of the results which 
have flowed from these penal proceedings in matter which is <\i 
law undoubtedly, but of conscience as well as law, I am far from 
believing that the public fully shares my views. I must suppi 
especially after the legislative proceedings of last year, thj 
countrymen are well satisfied with the general or averagt 
and bave detected in them -what my eyesight has not peroM^ 
a tendency to compose the troubles, and consohdato the fsba 
the Church. My ambition does not, then, soar so high as to « 
a renunciation of the comforts and advantages of religious litjgl 
All that I am now contending tor is that the suits which ini 
raised ought not to be embittered by the opening of soaro 

nil wTWi I 


fgnspeimtion that do not properly belong to them; that contribute 
absolutely notliing to the legal argument on either side for the 
eliici^tion of the nibrics ; and that, on the contrary, by inflaming 
pftstioQ, and snggeeting prqudice, darken and weaken, -st-hile they 
excit«, the intellect of all concerned. 

If^ as I hope, I may have carried with me some degree of con- 
c»irr«iice in the main proposition I have thus fai' urged, let ub now 
taru to BDi-vey a wider prospect. Let ue look for a while at the 
condition of the English Clmrch — its fears and dangers on tlie one 
band, its powers and capacities on the other ; and let us then ask 
onxHelvea whether duty binds and prudence recommends us to 
^ttfU it in pieces, or to hold it together. 

^^^^BjB neceasary firet to free the inquiry fi-om a source of verbal 
^^^^Bderstanding. In one andthesamebody, wesoe two ai;pcct«, 
^^^^■(iiiaTacters, perfectly distinct. That body declares herself, and 
I iiimpposed by the law of the country to be, the ancient and Catholic 
Church of the coiiutry, while it is also the national establishment 
of Btligion. In the first capacity, it derives its lineage and 
commiaaion from our Saviour and the Apostles ; in the second, 
it Ta officered and controlled by the State. We may speak of 
holding the Church together, or of holding the Clinrch and the 
Stftte together. I am far from placing tlie two duties on the same 
ffronnd, or assigning to them a common elevation. Yet the suh- 
jecto are. in a cei-taiu form, closely connected ; and the form is 
this. It may be that the continuing union of the Church within 
hpraetf will not secure without limit the continuing union of the 
Qiurch with the State. But it is certain, nevertheless, that the 
splitting of the Church will destroy its union with the State. Not 
ouly as a Church, but as an endowed establishment, it is, without 
donbt, still very strong. Sir Robert Peel said, over a quarter of a 
ccntnry ago, in discussing the emancipation of the Jews, that the 
"nly dangers of the Church consisted in its intental divisions, 
"ithin that quarter of a century the dangers have increased, but 
*itli them has probably increased also the strength to bear Uiem. 
Mmane and peril from without, against the Cliurch as an Eetah- 
lisliment, have made ground, but are still within measure ; still 
'*freBent a minor, not a major, social force ; though they are 
•econded by a general movement of the time, veiy visible in 
"Uier wmntries, and apparently pervading Gliristendom at large, 
?M. with a current certainly slow, perhaps indefinitely slow. But 
wmgU (he Clmrch may be posseased of a sufficient fund of strength, 
Iuctb is no redundancy that can be safely parted with. Any 
"eeessifin, if of Bonaible amomit, constituting itsolf into a separate 
"lijr. would operate on the National Church, with reference to its 
lUty, hke a rent in a wall, wliich is mainly impoi-tant. not by 
igbt of material it detaches, but by the discontinuity it leaves. 



It IB not, indeed, only the eeveinnco of the Church into tiw» 
bodies wliioh might precipitate diBestaUifhment. Obfitiiiacy and 
exaBpemtion of internal Btrife might operate yet more effectiTely 
towards the same end. The renewal of scenes and occurrenoeB 
like those of the session of 1874 would be felt, even more heavily 
than on that firet occasion, to involre not only pain, bnt dogiada- 
tion. Tho disposition of some to deny to the membere of tiie 
National Church the commonest priWlegee belonging toa reKgioiis 
communion, the detormination to cancel her birthright for A mess 
of pottage, the natural shrinking of the better and more refined 
minds from indecent conflict, the occasional exhibition of cynicism, 
presumption, ignorance, and contumu-ly, were, indeed, relieved by 
much genial good sense and good ftehng. found, perhaps, not least 
conspicuously among those who were by religious profession most 
widely severed from the National Cltnrch. But the mischief of 
one can inflict wounds on a religious body, which the abstinence 
and i^lent disapproval of a Jmudred caimot heal; and, unless an 
English spirit has departed wholly from the precincts of the 
English Church, she will, when the outrage to feeling grows nn- 
endurable, at least in the persons of the most liigh-minded among 
her children, absolutely decline the degrading relation to which 
not a few seem to think her born. I pass these to consider 
whether it be a duty or not to keep the Church united, with 
the negative assumption implied in these remarks, that without 
BQch union there cannot bo a reasonable hope of sa^-ing the 

Bnt it may be said, what is this inteinal union of the Church, 
which is professed to be of such vahiet We have within it men 
who build, or suppose themselves to build, their reh^on only upon 
their private judgment, unequally yoked with those who acki 
ledge the guiding value of Christian history and ^\-itneBe j mead 
believe in a visible Church, and men who do not ; men who a 
a further Reformation, and men who think the Hefirmatiod 
have had already went too far; men who think a Cliurch exiSM 
for the cviatody and teaching of the tnith, and men who view it 
aa a magazhie for the collection and parade of all sorts of 
opinions for all sorts of customeni. Kay, besides all this, are 
there not those wiio, with such concealment only as prudence may 
require, question the authority of Holy Scripture, and doubt, or 
dissolve into misty figure, even the cardinal facte of our redemption 
enshrined in the Apostles' Creed ^ What union, compatible vrith 
the avowed or unavowed existeneeof these diversities, can deM^^^ 
the name, or can be worth paying a price to maintain 1 ^^^H 

Now, before we examine the value Or no value of tliis I^^^H 
the flrst question is — does it exist, and how and where does it^^^| 
as a fact"? It dot*; and it is to be found in thee 

ly upon^Q|^J 


b AVTfM I 


cojumun action, comuioii worship, and prutably, above all, the 
tomiiion lllaniuil oJ" worehip, in the Church. Though it is aocom- 
jianiwl wilU many divergenccB of dogmatic Ifcjining, and though 
thftie differences are often prosecuted with a lamentable bitteruesa, 
jlI ill the law, the worship, and the Manual, thi^j- have a common 
centre, to which, upon the whole, all, or nearly all, the members of 
t!ui buJj- are really and strongly, though it may be uot uniformly 
not altogether consistently, attached, and which is at once dis- 
liimtivu. and in ite mt-asure efficient. Nay, more, it has been 
Btated in public, and I incline to believe with tnith, that the 
rubrics of the Church are at this moment more accurately followed 
(kii at any period of her history since the Keformation. Twelve 
mimtiia ago I scandalized the tender coueciences of eome by 
IMUitiug nut that in a law which combined the thi'ee couspicuouB 
fratures of being extremely minnte, very ancient, and in its eesence 
iittt pri)liibitive but directory, absolute and uniform obedience was 
bardly to be expected, perliaps, in the strict meaning of the terms, 
liardly even to be desired. I admit the scandals of divisiou, and 
tlie greater scandals of dissension; but there are, as I behove, 
fifteen miUions of people in this country who have not thrown off 
tlivir allegiaucu to its Church, and these people, when they speak 
*^ it, to a great extent mean the same thing, and, when they 
rtW'rt to it, willmgly concur in the same acts; williuglj', on the 
*bole^ though the different portions of them each abate something 
from their individual preferences to meet on common gi'ound, as 
T(i[i(«, Whigs, and Radicals do the like, to meet on the common 
ground of our living and working constitution. Tins union, then, 
I hold to be a fact, and I contend that it is a fact worth preserving. 
1 do not beg that question : I oijy aver that it is the question 
KftUy at issue ; and I ask that it ma^' be dispassionately con- 
ridored, for many questions of conduct depend upon it. 

The duty of promoting union in religion is elevated by special 
cangea at the present day into a peculiar solemnity ; while these 
eww* also envelop it in an estraordinaiy ijitrioacy. The rehgion 
if Christ as a whole, nay, even the pallid scheme of Theism, is 
w*«led with a sweep and vebemence of hostility greater probably 
than at any former period. \\'hile tlie war thus mges without tlie 
*all, none can say that the reciprocal antagonism of Christian 
l>«tes is perceptibly mitigated within it, or that the demarcating 
apices between Uieni are narrower than they were. Llost singular 
of aD, the greatest of the Christiiui communions, to say nothing 
of tho smaller, arc agitnted singly and severally by the presence 
T proximity of internal scliism. The Papal Church has gone to 
wurwiih portions of its adheivnts in Armenia, in Germany, in 
JSwitzerlnnd ; besides being in conflict -with the greater 
f Chiistiiin Slatts, c-pp<,-cJiiIly of those where the Roman 



religion is professed. The relatione of the Church of Englanii 
heyoiiii St. George's Channel, however euphemistically treated in 
some quartcre, are dark, and darkening etill. Even the immovable 
East is shaken. The Sclavonic, and the HeDenic, or non-Sclavomc, 
elements are at present, though ivithout doctrinal variance, 
yet in sharp ecclesiastical contention ; and a formidable schism 
in Bulgaria, not discountenanced by Russian iufluences, disturbs 
at its own doors the ancient and venerable See of Conataatinople 
and ' its sister Patriarchates, This is a rude and slight, but I 
believe an accurate outline. I do not say it carries ua beyond, 
btrt it certainly carries up to this point : that now, more than ever, 
oilr steps nhould be waiy and our heads cool, and that, if -wit 
should not disguise the true ragniflcance of controverflies. ned 
should we aggi-a\'ate them by pouring Cayenne pepper into e 
opened wound. 

I do not say that, in circmnstancos like these, it becomes tli4 
duty of each man to sacrifice everj-thing for the internal unity of 
his own conunuQJon, When that eommunion, by wanton innov&- 
tion, hetrtiys its duty, and aggravatf?8 the controveraies of 
Christendom, the very beet friend to its eventual unity may be 
he who at all hazards, and to all lengths, resists the revolntionary 
change. But it would seem that, in all cases where thfe religious 
body to which we belong has not set up the petra tediidali, the 
presumptive duty of the individual who remains in its coitimnsrion; 
to study its peace, is enhanced. Nowhere, in my view, does this 
proposiHon apply with such force as to the case of the English 
Church. This Church and nation, by an use of their refonning 
powers, upon the whole woudeifully temperate, found for them- 
selves, amidst the tempests of the sixteenth aud seventeenth 
centuries, a haven of comparative tranqnilKty, from which, for more 
than two centuries, they have not been dislodged. Withhi this 
haven it baa, especially of late years, been amply proved that 
every good work of the Divine Kingdom may be proeeo atflft 
wirii effect, and every quahty that enlarges and ennobles hl^^^H 
character may be abundantly reared. I do not Ito^v speak <^^^^M 
Nonconformists, for whom I entertain a very cordial rospec^^^H 
confine myself to what is still the National Church ; U^^^l 
earnestly urge it upon all her members that the more thoy a^^^H 
her place and function in Christendom, the more tlioy wilfi^^^H 
that her unity, qualified but real, is worth preserving, j^^^| 

I will dwell but very lightly on the argmnents which stl^^^H 
this conclusion. They refer first to the narional office of'^^^| 
great institution. It can hardly be described better than'j^^^l 
few words which I extract from a recent article in the JQilini^^^H 
Rfriete : — -^^^H 

" Ttie crown ati<] 11i>w<;r oi sui'li n mnveiaent. was the Eliznbethan C^^^H 


ol Englajid. Tliero the watchword w»a uever destmctioii or innovation t 
tkre a simple, Scriptnral, Catholic, and objective teaching, has preaerved 
M from superstitiouB and dogmatic vagaries on the one hand, and from 
ftfl tabjective weakness of many of the Protestant sects on the other. 
Ti. the formation of such a Cbiu-th the nation gave its strength »nd its 
intefligence, viz., that of the idea of More(?), of Shakespeare, and of 
Bdcon; and what is more, the whole nation contrihuted its good sense, 
itawibriHy, its stotdfastiiess, and its appreciation of a manly and regulated 
inedtim." — Eiiinbunjk Hevieic, April, 1B75, p. 374. 

There are those who think that bold changes in the law and 
Liiuatitutic'Q of the Church, in the direction of developed Protee- 
tsntiam, would bring Avithin its borders a larger proportion of the 
[n-ople. My own opinion is the reverse of this. I look upon any 
changes whatever, if serious in amount and contentions in 
etaract<?r, aa synonymous with the destruction of the National 
Establisliment. But the matter is one of opinion only, and I fully 
admit tho title of the nation to make any such changes, if they 
think fit, ^vitb such a purpose in view. 

But, besides her national office and capahiJities, the Church of 
Eaglaud, in her higher diameter as a form of the Christian 
nu^n, has a position at once most perilous and most precious 
(Ilerc borrow the well-known expression of De Maistre) ■with refer- 
ence to Cliiisteudom at large. She alone, of all Churches, lias 
poiate of contact, of access, of sympathy, with all the important 
aKtionH of the Christian comnnmity. Liable, more than any other 
tcanmunion, to see her less stable or more fastidious members 
Jt«p off from her now m this direction and now in that, she ia, 
uevMlheless, in a partial but not an unvea! sense, a link of union 
i»tweeu the several fractions of the Christian body. At every point 
of her frontier, she is in close competition with the great Latin 
comaimion, and with the varied, active, and in no way other 
liaurpepectabie, forms of Nonconfonnity. Nor does this repre- 
sent the wliole of the danger which, as to her sectional interests, 
sIiM daily suffers in detail. She inhabits a sphere of greater social 
if^ivity than is found in any other country of Europe ; she is in 
6lo«er neighbourhood, throughout her stracture, than any other 
t^niroli, with tlie spirit of inquiry (I do not say of research), and 
« proportionably more hable to defections in the direction of 
"obulief, or, if that word be invidious, of non-belief or negation. 
Kilt this great amount of actual peril and besetting weakness is, 
'" at Icat^t a corresponding degree, potential force- and usefulneBs, 
f"" others aa well aa for herself; and no philosophic observer, 
wltttcvcr be his li.'auiiigs. can exclude her from a prominent place 
in iris survey of amstcndom. 

n«;(K> things, it seems to me, are not enough considered among 
If ihey were enough considered, we should be less passionate 



ay as a 
of IS^I 

in our intemal controvereicB. We ahouid recollect that we 1 
what all admit to be a middle place ; that the stiTiiii, as in a wheel, is 
greatest at the centre, the tendeucy to diBlocation there most difficult 
to Biibdue. So we Bhould more contentedly accept the burdens 
of the position, for the sake of the high, disinterested, and bene- 
ficent mifiaion with which they seem to be allied. Even if I am 
wrong in the persuasion that much ought to be borne rather than 
bring about a rupture, I can hardly be wrong in claiming the 
assent of all to the proposition that we had better not prosecute 
our controversies wildly and at haphazard, but that we should 
carefully examine, before each step ia taJcen, wliat other steps it 
win bring after it, and what consequences the series may aa ) 
whole involve. 

I am quite aware of the answer which will spring to the li 
some. " The object of the long series of prosecutions, and 
Act of 1874. is to cut out a gangrene from the ChurCh of I 
land ; to defeat a conspiracy which aims at reversing the move- 
ment of the Reformation, and at remodelling her tenets, her 
worship, and her discipline, on the basis of the Papal Church : 
aye, even witli all the aggravations of her earlier system, which 
that Clinrch has in the later times adopted." But the answer to 
this answer is again perfectly ready. If there be within the 
Church of England a section of clergy or of laity, which is 
engaged in such a conspiracy, it is one extremely, almost infini- 
tenmally small. I do not now deal with the very different charge 
against doctrines and practices which are said to ttmd towards the 
Church of Rome, This charge was made against Laud by flie 
Puritans, and is made against the Prayer-Book at large by our 
Noncoufonnuig friends, or by veiy many of them." My point is 
that those, who aim at Romanizing the Church, are at worst a hand- 
ful. If, then, the pui-pose be to put them down, attack them (as 
you think it woi-th while) in the points they distinctively profess 
and practise. But is this the course actually taken ? Are i" 

* These ullcgaiioiis did not PomcionoD ttUIi tbn roflTtls of Mir timo. Sm fw ig 
the fonawing oitriot (rum " Tli» C;itli>ilio Qoosttaa : kd^trcHod to tile Fraeh«li' 
CoimtT ol York :" uu tbo Ocoeral EloctioD of IH^Ii : p. ^4 :— 

" All thuie tliiagH, howetcr, uro lititilo Id the ChiTrcb of England : go tc _ 

liflar and *ee all Che magniBcent thingB done there ; behold the rogiiiiBnta of wu t^Mn, 
the whjte-robed prieitB, tbo inaofl-boarcr*j tho chaunters, tho picture orrr iJia altar, the 
w^-lighlsaud Ihn bumi shod gold plnloBand cupaon tbe altar; then Ifdti-D to tbo pnyars 
rapemtad in chaust, the antbema, the muiioal responaea, tbe thundetiag of tll<^ organ and 
the ecboei of the mtprminable roof; and then anj, ia not tbia Jdalatr; F it U all the 
idolatry that Uio Catholics admit ; it in the natural iaolinntion that *d haro to thoae waalt 
null bogipirlT elementB. pomp and prido ; aod -nhicli botb Catlioll«R and the Hi;^ Uraroh 
party tbink ao important in religioii. I boldlj assert that there ia moro idolatry la lb* 
Chnreb of England than nmongat thn Eoglii^h Cntbolita; and for tbt« simpln reawo, 
boeatiu the Chnrob of England can better nfTord It. Two-thirda of Ike ChurL'h aurrlca 
ia pomp and granduur i it ia ae Gharlea n. used to Bnj, ' the sorriae of (^nlU'iiit.'U.' It ia 
for ahow, and for a Btriking impreBBion : tha cathiKlral senioe I'jr iiolhitig ":">'' or 'wu fJlun 
a ma**, lor tt ia all obnuDtBd Irom begimung to end, uad tbe pooplo cumiot ui 
• word ol it." -^^ 


P >^Dnts the subjects of the recent proBecutione, of the present 
I tlueatfi. of the crowd of pamphlets and volnmos upon ritnal con- 
troversy, wliich daily iseue from tlie preas? On the contrary, 
' tit^efle profiecudone, tbeee menacee, these volnmmoua productions, 
, have alwftj'8 for their main, and often for their excltisive, subject 
I tlie two points of Chnrch law which relate to the poration of the 
ccmwcrotor, and to the rubric on ecclesiaatical vestmejits. But 
now we arrive at a formidable dilemma. Upon the constmction 
of tlie law on these two points, the prosecuting partiee are at 
TsriancB, not with a handful, but with a very large number, with 
tlioiisands and tens of thousands, both of the clergy and the 
kily of the Church of England, whose avormente I understand 
to be these : first, that the law of 1662, fairly interpreted, enjoins 
lie vestments of the First Prayer Book of Edward VI., and the 
iflitward position of the consecrating priest; secondly, that it 
would be inequitable and unwise to enforce these laws, and that 
the prevailiiig liberty ehonld continue; thirdly, that it would 
be inequitable and unwise to alter them. Are these propositions 
coDciiunve evidence of a conspiracy to assimilate the Reformed 
refigioD of England to the Papal Church ? If they are not, why 
is tlie war to he conducted mainly, and thus hotty, in the region 
llwy define? If they are, then our position is one of great 
dauger, because it is well known that a very large and very 
iwig^ty portion of the clergy, with no inconsiderable number of 
Bie luty, proceeding upon various grounds — love of ritual, lovo 
of fiberty, dread of rupture — are arrayed on the side of toleration 
Ig^DSt tiie prosecuting part^'. It is said to have been declared by 
pOBona in high authority, that a large portion of both clergy and 
Iiity do entertain the desire to Romanize the Church. I am con- 
vinced it ig not 80 ; but if it be so, our condition is indeed formid- 
»bl(i, and we are preparing to " shoot Niagara." For I hold it to 
W beyond dispute that, whether minor operations of tho knife be 
iir be not safe for us, large excisions, large amputations, are what 
tW constitution of the patient will not bear. Uuder them the 
EoUblifihment will part into shreds ; and even the Church may 
undergo sharp and searching consequences, which as yet it would 
W liardly possible to forecast. 

For tlio nvoidance of these dangers, my long cherished convio- 
lion etQl Hubsiets that the best and most efi'ectual remedy is to be 
fiiuiid iu forbearing to raise couteurious issues, and to aim at 
iiliug consciences by courts, I say this is the most effectual 
tunedy. For the next best, which is that tho parties shall, after 
«ill and decisive exposition of the law. submit to the sentence of 
Uutribuiials., is manifestly incomplete. The prosecuting party, in 
•be two matters of the Rubric on Vestments and the position of 
He consecrating minister, will doubtless submit to an adverse 



judgment ; but will as certainly, and not vnthoiit reason from id 
owu point of view, transfer to tUe legislative arena thti agitatione 
of the judicial foniui. The Dean of Briatol. who has argued these 
questions with his usual force and directness, wiehes that no altera- 
tions should be made in the rubrics, if what is called the Purchas 
judgment be maintained ; but, with his acute eye, he has perliapn. 
shrewd suspicions on that subject ; and accordingly he says, if that 
judgment be not maintained, he is "for such wide agitation, such 
strong and determined measures, aa shall compel [ne] the Legisla- 
ture to give back to the Church its old and happy character of 
purity."" A pleasant prospect for our old age ! But the Dean 
has thia advantage over me. He does not object to tho voiee de 
fait, and if only the judgment goes liis way will be quite happy. 
I am one of those who have the miefortuno of being like Falkland 
in the war of King and Parliament: I shall deplore all dis- 
turbing judgments, wholly irrespective of my own sympathies or 
antipathies. If (which I own I find it veiy difficult to anticipat«) 
the prosecutors are defeated, who are strongly (to use a barbarous 
word) eetablishmentarian, we shall have agitation for a change in 
the law, too likely to end in ruptiire. If they succeed, we s^iall 
have exaggerated but unassailable manifestations of the feeling 
it has been sought to put down : and. wliile this is the employment 
of the interim, the party hit, who are by no means so closely tied 
to the alliance of tlie Church with the State, \vill, despairing of 
.any other settlement, eeok peace through its dissolution. 

It may now perhaps in some degree appear why I have presaed 
80 earnestly the severance of these rubrical suits from " doctrioal 
. significance," Could we but expel that noxious element from 
-the debate, could we but see that the two conflicting views of 
ihe position and the vestments are just as capable, to say the least, 
..of a hirge and innocuous as of a specific and contentious inter- 
pretation, then we might hope to see a frame of mind among the 
litigators, capable of acquiescence in any judgment which they 
beheve to be upright, and to be given after full consideration of 
the case. Soreness there might be, and murmuiing; but good 
sense might prevail, and the mischief would be limited witljiu 
narrow bounds. But unhappily men of no small account an- 
nounce that they care not for the sign, they raiist deal with tho 
thing signified. They desire the negation by authority of tho 
doctrine of the Real Presence of our Lord and Saviour Chriet 
and of the Eucharistio Sacrifice : negations which, again, are 
synonymous with the disruption of the English Church. 

When prudent men, or men made prudent by responsibility, are 
associated together for given purposes, whether in a cabinet, or 

• LolWr to Efly. Mr. W»lkor, pp. 23—36 


a synod, or a committee, or a board, and they find their union 
menaced by differences of opinion, they are wont first to test the 
minds of one another by argument and persuasion ; and, faiUng 
these instruments, both the instinct of self-preservation and the 
laws of duty combine in prompting them to put off the evil day, 
and thus to take the benefit of enlarged information, of fresh ex- 
perience, of the softening influences of association, and of what- 
ever other fitcilities of solution the unrevealed future may embrace. 
Why can we not carry a little of this forbearance, founded upon 
common sense, into reUgion, and at least fetch our controversies 
out of the torrid into the temperate zone ? 

The time may, and I hope will, arrive, when a spirit of more 
diffusive charity, a wider acquaintance vpith the language and 
history of Christian dogma, and a less jealous temper of self- 
assertion, will enable us to perceive how much of what divides us 
in the Eucharistic controversy is no better and no worse than 
logomachy, and how capable men, ridding themselves of the 
subtleties of the schools and of heated reactions, may solve what 
passion and faction have declared insoluble. 

But that time has not yet arrived ; and, if the doctrine of the 
Eucharist must really be recast, there are no alternatives before 
us except on the one hand disruption, on the other postponement 
of the issue until we can approach it imder happier auspices. The 
auspices are not happy now. ' There are even those in the English 
Church who urge with sincerity, and with impunity, the duty of 
preaching the "Real Absence,"* and, though these be few, yet 
many who shrink from the word may be nearly with them in the 
thing. On the other side, wholly apart from the energy of parti- 
sanship, from a Romanizing disposition, and from a desire for the 
exaltation of an order, there are multitudes of men who believe 
that the lowering of the sacramental doctrine of the English 
Church, in any of its pai-ts, will involve, together \vith a real 
mutilation of Scriptural and Catholic tinith, a loss of her Chris- 
tian dignity, and a forfeiture of all the hopes associated -with her 
special position in Christendom. Of all sacramental doctrine, 
none is so tender in this respect as that which relates to the 
Eucharist. The gross abuses of practice, and the fanciful ex- 
cesses of theological speculation in the Western Church before 
the Reformation, compelled the AngHcan Reformers to retrench 
their statements to a minimum, which can bear no reduction 
whether in the shape of altered formula) or of binding construc- 
tions. If, in these times of heat, we aband(m the wise self- 
restraint which in the main has up to a recent time prevailed, it is 
too probable that wanton tongues, prompted by ill-trained minds, 

• Rev. Mr. Wolfo on the " Eastward Position," p. 4. 

P 2 



may reciprocally launch the reproaches of superstition and 
idolatij' on the one hand, of hereey and unbelief on the other. 
Surely prudence would dictate that in these circnmstaDoes all 
esdating latitude of law or well-established practice, should as a 
rule be respected ; that no conscience be pressed by new theological 
tests, either of word or action ; and that we should prefer the hope 
of a peaceful underefanding, in some even distant future, to the 
certainty of a ruinous discord as the fruit of precipitancy and 
violent courses. One of the strangest freaks of human inconsis- 
tency I have ever witnessed is certainly this. We are much (and 
justly) reminded, with reference to those beyond our pale, to 
think little of our differences and much of our agreements ; but at 
the same time, and often from the same quarters, we are taught and 
tempted by example if not by precept, within our own immediate 
*• household of faith," to think incessantly of our differences, and 
not at all of our much more substantial and weighty agreements. 
The proposition, then, on which I desire to dwell as the capital 
and cardinal point of the case is. that hea%*y wU be the blame to 
those, be they who they may, who may at this juncture endeavour, 
whether by legislation or by judicial action, and whether by 
alteration of phrases or by needlessly attaching doctrinal signifi- 
cance to the injunction or prohibition of ceremonial acts, to shift 
the balance of doctrinal expression in the Church of England. 
The several sections of Christendom are teeming with lessons of 
all kinds. Let us, at least in this cardinal matter of doctrinal 
expression, wait and learn. We have received from the Almighty 
withui the last half-century, such gifts as perhaps were hardly 
ever bestowed within the same time on a reUgioua community. We 
see a transformed clergy, a laity less cold and neglectful, education 
vigorously pushed, human want and sorrow zealously cared for, 
sin less feebly relftked, worship restored from frequent scandal 
and prevailing apathy to uniform decency and frequent reverence, 
preaching restored to an Evangelical tone and standard, the 
organization of tlie Chnrch extended throughout the empire, and 
this by the agency, in many cases that might be naraetl, of men 
who have succeeded the Apostles not less in character than in 
commission. If we are to fall to pieces in the face of such 
experiences, it will be hard to award the palm between our infatna^ 
tion and our ingratitude ; and our just reward will be ridicule from 
without our borders, and remorse from within our hearts. 

This highly-coloured description I desire to apply within the 
limits only of the definite statement with which it was introduce*' 
But I am far from complaining of those who think the evils off 
gatiou ought to be encountered, rather than pennit even a 1 
of men to introduce into oar services evidences of a desigi 
Eomanize the religion of the comitry ; and I have alwaj-a thon 


^Aal effective provision should be made to check sudden and 
arbitrary innovation as such, even when it does not present 
features of intrinsic miscluef. To nie this still appears a wiser and 
£afer basis of proceeding than an attempt to establish a cast-iron 
mie of uniform obedience to a vast multitude of provisions some- 
limes obscure, eometimcH obsolete, and vciy variously understood, 
interpreted, and appHed. But tliis preference is not expressed in 
-Aire interest of any particular party, least of aU of what is termed 
-C:he High (3iurch party. For the mbrics, which the Pubhc Worship 
.^ct is to enforce, may, with truth, be generally described as High 
^3iurch rubrics ; and the mere party man, who takes to himself 
■t^h&t designation, has reason to be grateful to the opposing party 
for having so zealously promoted the passing of the Act. For my 
owu part, I disclaim all eatiafaction in such a compulsory enforce- 
Kxient of rubrics which I approve ; and I would far rather trust to 
the growth of a willing obedience among those who are called Low 
Chordunen, where it is still deficient. I am far, however, from 
Aatteiting that all enforcement of the law, beyond what I have 
abo^'e deecrilwd, must of necessity produce acute and fatal 
misohiefa. Much foUy both of " reges " and " Achi^■i " has been 
bgme, and may yet be borne, while Judginenta are such as to 
carry on tJieir front the note of impartiality, and as long as we 
avoid the rock of doctrinal significance, and maintain the integrity 
uf tlie Prayer-Book. 

But 1 must endeavour, before closing these remarks, to bring 
into view further reasons against free and large resort to penal 
jnuceedings in regard to the ceremonial of the Church. The 
lamaHcB I have to offer are critical in their nature, for they aim at 
tihibitiQg the necessary impeifections even of the best tribunal ; 
bnt tiiey do not require the sinister aid either of bitterness or of 

Tfae fiiBt of these remarks is that the extinction of the separate 
pmfeaBion of the civilian, now merged in the general study and 
pHMTticti of the bar, and the consoHdation of the Courts of Probate 
and Admiralty with those of Equity and Common Law, have 
lutQrially impaired the chances, which have hitherto existed, of our 
KndiDg in our judges of ecclesiastical causes the foim of fitness 
grmriag out of special study. Any reader of the learned Judg- 
nenlB of the Dean of Arches may perceive the great advantages 
Aty derive from this source. It may be thought, with some 
nuoD( that episcopal assessors will, in doctrinal cases, help to 
tOfifiy the defect ; but it would not be easy to arrange that the 
mast learned bishops should be chosen as assessors ; and the 
general standard of learning on the bench cannot, under the 
hard oomlitiona of modem times, be kept very high. The number 
of iTidividuals must at all times be small who unite anything like 


deep or varied learning with the administrative and pastoral 
qualities, and the great powers of business and active work, which 
are now more than ever necessary in a bishop. But in questions' 
of ceremonial, the difficulties are greater still. 

Let any one turn, for example, to the decision on appeal in the- 
Purchas case, as it is the most recent, and seems to be the 
most contested, of the rubrical decisions. He will find, perhaps 
with sui-prise, that it does not rest mainly on considerations 
of law, but much more upon the results of historical and 
antiquarian study. Though rightly teimed a legal judgment, and 
though it of course has plenary authority as to the immediate 
question it decides, it is in truth, and could not but be, as to the 
deteimining and main portion of it, neither more nor less than 
a purely literary labour. Now, the authority of Uterary inquiries 
depends on care, comprehensiveness, and precision, in collecting' 
facts, and on great caution in concluding from them. There is 
no democracy so leveUing as the RepubUc of Letters. Liberty 
and equaUty here are absolute, though fraternity may be some* 
times absent on a hoUday. And a Uterary labour, be it critical^ 
be it technical, be it archaeological, when it has done its immediate 
duty in disposing of a cause, cannot afterwards pass muster by 
being wrapped in the folds of the judicial ermine. It must come 
out into the Ught, and be timied round and round, just as freely 
(though under more stringent obUgations of respect) as Professor 
Max Mliller 8 doctrine of solar myths, or Professor Sylvester's fourth 
dimension in space, or Dr. SchHemann's promising theory that 
Hissarhk is Troy. It is, I beUeve, customary, and perhaps wise, that 
a prior judgment of the highest court of appeal should govern a 
later one. It is alleged, nor is it for me to rebut the allegation, 
that the Purchas judgment contradicts the judgment in the case of 
Liddell v, Westeiion ; but, if so, this is accidental, and does not touch 
the principle, which seems to be generally acknowledged. Now, 
however well this may stand with respect to interpretation of law, 
yet with respect to historical and antiquarian researches, and to 
judgments which turn on them, it would evidently be untenable, 
and even ludicrous. And then comes the question, what right- 
have we to expect from our judges, amidst the hurry and pressure 
of their days, and often at a time of life when energy must begin 
to flag, either the mental habits, or the acquisitions, of the arohseo-^ 
logist, the critic, or above all of the historian ? Why should we 
expect of the bishop, because he may be assumed to have a fair 
store of theology, or of the judge, because he has spent his life 
in pleading and hearing causes, that they should be adepts in 
historical research, or that they should be imbued with that which 
is so rare in this country, the historic sense and spirit, abundant^in 
thiR our day, nowhere but in Germany? . 


ft may be said that judges can and will avail themBelves of the 
likinre of others ; but they are unliappily not in the ordinary 
conditioii of courts of first instance, wlio can collect evidence of 
ail kinds at will. They are ooii£iied to published labours, when 
Uiey go beyond the ex parte statementB with which counsel may 
Kipply them. Still they are sure to do their best, and they may 
get OD well enough, if the subject happens to bo one of those 
wlJch liave been tiioroughly examined, and "where positive 
CTncluidone have been 8uffi<nently established. But what if, on the 
wolraiy, it has been one neglected for many generations ? if the 
anthoritiee, so far as they go, are in serious if not hopeless conflict? 
if lie study of the matter has but recently begun, and that only 
amidat the din and heat, and for the puipoaes, of the actual 
cimtroversy ? What is the condition of a judge who has to inter- 
pret the law by means of data, which only the historian and the 
uitiquarian can supply and digest respectively, when they have 
not digested or supphed them t For example, what if he have to 
mveetigate the question how a surpUce is related to an alb, how 
far the use of either accompanies or excludes the cope or the 
chasuble (as a coat excludes a lady's gown), or in what degree the 
ultarwise position of the Holy Table had been established at the 
time when the Commissioners at the Savoy were engaged in the re- 
mon of the Liturgy '{ In this country a barrister cannot be his 
offii attorney ; yet a judge may not only have to digest his own legal 
spparatUB, but may also be required to dive, at a moment's uolice. 
into the tohn-hohii of inquiries which have never yet emerged from 
toe stage of chaos; and the decision of mattera of great pith and 
moment for Christian worship and the peace of the Church comes 
todepeud upon what is at best, by no fault of his, random and frag- 
Oeiitory knowledge. 

Ally reader of tlie Purchas Judgment on Appeal will perceive 
'low truly I have said that it rests mainly, not on jmhcial intei^ 
illations, but on the results of hterary research. In such inter- 
pretations, indeed, it is not wanting ; but they are portions only 
"f llie fabric, and are joined together by what seems plainly to be 
literary and antiquarian inquiry. The Judicial Committee decide, 
for example, "witli regard to sacerdotal vestments, that the Ad- 
vertigementa of 1 564 have the authority of law ; and to this decision 
•'U; mere la3'man must respectfully bow." But they also rule that 
Mie Advertisements in prescribing the use of the surplice for parish 
'iircheii, proscribe the use of the cope or the chasuble, and that 
tile oanons of 1IJ03-4 repeat the prohibirion.t Now, this is a 

• KmIu'i Itoports, p. 171, ITC. 

t iW, p. 178, " If tba minlater is ordnrod to -nen ■ anrplioo it all timca of Ma 
"■'olMiUlaD, be euiDOt nuiir ui alb nncl tnnicle when oCiBiBtiiig Bt the 'Bdy Cohuqq- 
'*a;ifhtu la aJdrale ih Holy Communion I'n a duniblc. lit caniwt retelrate in o 



propoBition purely antiquarian. It dependa upon a precise know- 
ledge of the nsages of what ie gometimes termed " ecclesisBtioal 
milUnety." Can judges, or even biahops, be expected to possess 
this very fecial kind of knowledge, or be held blameable for not 
posseeeing it ? I think not. But when even judges of great emi- 
nence, of the highest rtatioii, and of the loftiest character, holding 
themselves compelled to decide, aye or no, on the best evidence 
they can get as to every question brought before them, that the 
use of the surplice excludes the use of the chasuble, this is after 
ail a strictly literary conclusion, ftnd is open to be confirmed, im- 
paired, or overthrown, by new or wider evidence which further 
literary labour may accumulate. And, indeed, it appears rather 
diificuit to sustain the proposition that the surplice when used 
excludes all the more elaborate vestments, since we find it 
aotnally prescribed in one of the rubrics at the eud of the 
ConuDunion OflSce in the Prayer-Book of 1549, that the officiating 
minister is ordered to "put upon him a plain alb or nitrpHce aith 
a cope." 

Again, the Judicial Conunittce, in construing the rubrics as to 
the portion of the minister, states that before the revision of llj€2, 
"the custom of placing the table alongthe east wall was becoming 
general, and it may fairly be said that the revisers must liavo had 
this in view." This, of course, is a pure matter of history. Before 
and since the judgment was given, it has been examined by a 
variety of competent writers ; and I gather from thoir produc- 
tions, that had these been before the tribunal in 1871, it must 
have arrived, on this point, at an opposite opinion. The conclit- 
sion of Mr. Scudamore indeed is that the present position of the 
altars is the work of the eighteenth century". 

The literarj' conclusion with respect to the surpUce appears to 
be the foundation-stone of the Purchas judgment with reference 
to vestments. But it seems to be also collaterally stietained by 
three other propositions : one, that the articles of visitjitiou, and 
the proceedings of commissions, in and after the reign of Elizabeth, 
prescribe the destmction of vestments, albs, tnniclea, and other 
articles, as monuments of superstition and idolatiy; the second, 
that the requisitions of bishops in these parochial articles ore 
limited to the surplice ; the third, that there is no evidence of the 
ujBe of vestmenfa during tho period. All these are matters, not_j 
law, bnt of historical criticism. 

The criricB of the Judgment are numerous, and few of d 
perhaps, make due allowance for the difficulties under which ii 
framed. Their arguments are manifold, and far beyond my power 
fully to cite. Among other points, they admit the second of these 
three propositions, and consider that the attempts of the i 
authorities were limited, as regards enforcement, to the surf 


but hold that in tboee times wliat the law prescribed was one 
thing — wliat it enforced, or attempted to enforce, was another. 
Mr. MacCoU" cites a remarkable rxamplo ; namely, that while the 
rubric reqtu'red the prieet to rtud daily four chapters of Holy 
Scriptare, the AdvertiBemeiits aimed at enforcing only two. 
orders of deBtniction raise a point of great importance, 
demands full inquiry. As far as I have noticed, they 
"ormlyto include "croMes" as "monuments of eupersfi- 
id idolatry;" ypt the Judicial Committee in Weeterton 
K Liddell. and in Hebert v. Purchas, decide tliat crosses 
for deeoiotion of the building are lawftd. As regards the 
actual aae of vestments, Mr. MacCoU (while presuming that in a 
penal case it is evidence of disuse, not of use, that is demanded) 
snpplieB ■what he thinks ample proof ;t and it is noticed that in 
the jtidgment itself there is evidence, viz., that of Dering (1593), 
aod Jobueon (1573), sufficient to impede an universal assertion. 
But into these matters I do not enter. I confine myself to urg^g 
the necessity of further historical and arehsiological inquiries, as 
abeolnt«ly necessary in order to warrant any judgments restric- 
tive, in whatever sense, of the apparent liberality of our laws and 
pmctice i and I rejoice to sec that for this end so many persons of 
ability, beside those I have ntuned, are brin^g in their reapeetivo 

1 suppose it to be beyond doubt that in our times the acts of the 
officers of the law may be taken as evidence of what the law is, 
oris reported to be. The burning of printed editions of English 
books by the CuBtoms would prove that the importation of such 
woriu was prohibited. But history seems to show that this appa^ 
tently obvious rule cannot be applied to times like those of the Re- 
fmnfttion without much caution and reserve. For example : The 
^Dnhas judgment states that the law required tihe use of copes 
AoUiedral and collegiate churches, and generally treats author- 
i»d deiitmction as evidence of illegality : but it appears^ that the 
t^ieta's Commissioners at Oxford, in 1573 (when the anti-papal 
^WM running vcTy high), ordered in tlie College Chapel of All 
Sank that all copes should be defaced and rendered imfit for use. 
There are tliee cautionary remarks, with which I shall 

Ite first is that, unless I am mistaken, the word evidence is 
vmutimes uBcd, in judgments on ceremonial, in a mode wliich 
Orolreig a dangerous fallacy. It seems to bo used in a judicial 
*»■•, whereas it is really used in a literary sense. As respects the 

' ^Lavlnsaneu, Sacerdotaliam, oitd RiliuliBOi," p. TC. 
1 Pni, pp. 59— TO. 

J Far •umplo, Mr, Berealord Hope ind Mr. Slorton SUaw, Mr. Droop bus prodoaed 
MDioutnl llliutrkliaDi. 
I Dump OD EdwsrdUn Tostmeiits, p. 'H\. 


testimony given in a case, the judge deals judicially, and with his 
full authority as a judge ; but the illustmtive matter he collects in 
these suits from books or pamphlets, laborious as he may be, and 
useful as it may be, is not evidence except in the sense in which 
Dr. SchUemann thinks he has plenty of evidence as to the site of 
Troy ; it is historical inquiry, or literary or learned speculation* 

The second is that, if I am right in laying down as the grand 
requisite for arriving at truth in these cases the historian's attain^ 
ments and frame of mind, the judge, and the lawyer, labour in 
these cases imder some peculiar difficulties. It is almost a 
necessity for the judge, as it is absolutely for the advocate, that 
every cause be resolved categorically by an Aye or a No. But 
the historical inquirer is not conversant with Aye and No alone : 
he is familiar with a thousand shades of colour and of light 
between them. The very firat requisite of the historic mind is 
suspense of judgment. Judicial business requires, as a rule, a 
decision between two— it is the judgment of Solomon ; but the 
historian may have to mince the subject into many fragments, 
according to the probabilities of the case ; he deals habitually 
with conjectures and Ukelihoods, as well as positive assei-tions. 
The judge has to give all where he gives anything, and his mental 
habit forms itself accordingly ; but ^he " I doubt " which was so 
much criticized in Lord Eldon, is among the most prominent 
characteristics of the philosophic and tinith-loving historian. 

Lastly ; after the famous judgment Mr. Burke has passed upon 
the immense merits, and besetting dangers, of the legal mind, with 
direct relation to the character of Mr. Grenville, that great master 
proceeds to state that "Mr. Grenville thought better of the wisdom 
and power of human legislation than in truth it deserves."* Most 
eminently does this seem to me to be true, in observing the 
manner after which our judges sometimes deal with ancient laws. 
Such as the character and efficacy of law is now, such they are 
apt to assume it always must have been. It has not been their 
business to consider the enomious changes in the structure of 
society, on its toilsome way through the rolling ages, from a low to 
a high organization. The present efficiency of law presumes the 
full previous inquiry and consultation of the deUberative power, 
and the perfect strength of the executive. But that strength de- 
pends on the magistracy, the police, the judiciary, the standing 
army, upon the intercommunication of men and tidings by easy loco- 
motion, upon a crowd of arrangements for the most part practically 
unknown to the loosely compacted structures of medisaval societiefl. 
The moral force, wliich abode in them, had Uttle aid, for the pur- 
poses of the supreme power, except on the most pressing emer- 

* Speech on American Taxation. Worka, toL IL pw 889. 


genciee, from material force; partial approximations were then 
imlr puGsible, iii cases where tlie modern provisions for obedience 
are nearif complete. Tlie law of to-day is the expression of a 
aipreme will, which has, before deciding on its utterance, had 
ample means to consult, to scrutinize the matter, to adapt itself to 
imwticiil possibilities ; and it is justly constmed as an iuatrument 
which is meaut to lake, and takue, immediate and uniform effect. 
Buttbe hiwa of earlier times were to a great extent merely in the 
natare of authoritative aeaertions uf principle, aud tentative efforts 
Uiwards giviup it effect ; and were frequently, not to say habitu- 
ally, aocording to the expediencies of the hour, trampled mider foot, 
even by those who were supposed to carry them into execution. 
Tai[e the great case of Magna Charta, in wliich the community 
had BO vast au interest. It weis incessantly broken, to be incee- 
amtly, not renewed, but simply re-affirmed. And law was thus 
broken by authority, as authority found it convenient : from the 
4ge wUcu Henry III. "passed his life in a series of perjuries," 
wiceBid by Mr. Hallam," to the date when Charles II. plundered 
tiie lumkers, Magna Charta was re-aaserted, we are told, tliiriy- 
lw(i times, without ever having been repealed. But we do not 
therefore, from discovering either occaaional or even wholesale 
(linobedieuco. find it necessary to read it otlierwise tlian in its 
natural sense. The reign of Elizabotli bisects the period between 
Magna Charta and oureclves. But very httle progress had been 
ifflde in her times towards improving the material order of 
Mcietf; and, from religious convulsion, tbey were in truth semi- 
remlutionary times. Acceding to the throne, she had to struggle 
with an intense duaUsm of feeling, which it was her arduous task 
to monld into an unity. The clergy, except a handful, eympa- 
thiaed largely with the old order, aud continued very much in the 
"Id groove throughout the niral and less advanced districts. To 
EitaHtate her operations on this side, she wisdy brought in the. 
Knbiic of Ornaments, But there had also spnmg up in the Iring- 
^. after ihe Bad uxperience^ of Mary's reign, a determined 
I^huusm, lodged principally at the main centres of population, 
™d nistained by tlie credit of the returning exiles {several of 
thfin bishops), and by the natural sympathies of the Continental 
ufonnatiou. Where this spirit was dominant, the work of 
flOBtniction did not wait for authority, and far outran it. In 
liitii, the powers of the Queen and the law wove narrowly 
^pA in, on tbis side as well as on the other. What could be 
"mre Dougcnial to her mind and to her necessities, tlian that, for 
iJI iliM second section of her people, she should wink hard at 
ffgleet in a sore point like that of vestmenta, and that in pro- 

• UiiUIn .\gpi>, ii. 4BI-3. 



Deeding to the Advertiaements of 156i, though obliged to apply 
a stronger hand, she shonld confine hereelf to expreBmng what 
she thought absolute decency required, namely, the enrphce, and 
leave the rubric and the older fonns to be held or modified 
according to the progressive action of opinion % CoiiBideiing the 
violent divergences with which she had to deal, would it not 
have been the ruin of her work if she had endeavoured to push to 
the extremes now sometimes supposed the idea of a present and 
immediate uniformity throughout the land 1 This I admit is 
speculation, on a subject not yet fully elucidated ; but it is speoo-*, 
lation which is not in conflict with the facts thus far known, 
and which requires no strain to be put upon the language of the 

" England expects every man to do his duty;" and this is an 
attempt at doing mine, not without a full measure of respect for 
those, who are charged witli a task now more than ever arduous 
in the declaration and enforcement of the law. To lessen the 
chances of misapprehension I sum up, in the following proposi- 
tions, a paper which, though lengtheued, must, I know, he 
dependent to a large extent upon Uberal interpretation, 

I. The Church of this great nation is worth pre8er\'ing; and for 
that end much may well be borne, 

U. In the existing state of minds, and of ciroumstanceB, pre- 
served it caimot be, if we shift its balance of doctrinal expreBMon, 
be it by an alteration tif the Prayer Book (either way) in coa- 
tested points, or be it by treating rubrical interpretations of the 
mattera heretofore most sharply contested on the baffls of " doc- 
trinal significance." 

III. The more we trust to moral forces, and the lew to 
penal proceedings (which are to a considerable extent exclumT« 
one of the other), tbe better for the Establishment, and even for 
the Church. 

IV. K htigation is to be continued, and to remain within the 
boimds of safety, it is highly requisite that it shoiild be confined 
to the repression of such proceedings as really imply unfaithful- 
ness to the national religion. 

V. In order that judicial decisions on ceremonial may habi- 
tually enjoy the large measure of authority, finality, and respect^ 
which attaches in general to the sentences of our courts, it 
is requisite that they shonld have uniform regard to the nilea aniK- 
results of full historical investigation, and shonld, if posrable^- 
allow to stand over for the future matters insufficiently olearod^- ' 
rather than decide thom upon partial and fragmentary tvidenoe. 

W. E. Q,\ 

i *»t ^ ab hotte doceri. Still more permisBible and appro- 
priate must it be to profit \>j the experience of our cbildreii, 
Ivecftose still closer must be the analogy between the characters 
and the circumstances of those so nearly allied by blood, and 
prohibly identical in bo many of their antecedents. I canaot but 
lwlie%"e, therefore, that much interest will attach to the following 
contiibntion to some of our most imminent political and social 
pmbletns, which reached me a few days ago, from one of a group 
<^ colonies which, no doubt, is destined to a fuUire of great pros- 
perity aud power. The writer holds a position of eminence and 
*ealtli in New South Wales, has made his home in that colony, 
uiteodB to live and die there, is a man of influence among 
W> fellow-citizen B, and much concerned with commercial and 
IlidoBtri&l undertakinge, and, consequently, well qualified to give. 
i^ble information 0:1 the subject in question. 

" Sydney, New South Wales, 

10(A March, 1875. 

iiitniUe myself upon you in this letter, it 

great interest your latest work, " Rooks 

^t be gi'atifying to you to hear "A Voice 

example the truth of your vaticinations. 

an Anglo-Saxon community, with all its 

ita virtues and its prejudices; and, as far 

, its population, and ita influence upon the 

though still a colony, has placed its foot 

of nationality; aud it is a worthy study 

-.•n.^ Sir, — If I venture to 
' *ftst, having perused with 
Ahead " I considered that it migl 
^"01 the Antipodes " echo by an 
"» have in New South Wales 
"^"sgS ftod doggedness, with all 
M wt can judge from its wealth, 
'^ifVtti' ..f llie world, one that, 1 
"iimd of the ladder 



for the philosoplier to see how that nationality is shaping its future. In 
the year 1853 a constitution was granted to the colony, creating two 
Houses of Parliament — ^the Senate, or Upper House, nominated by the 
Crown, and an Assembly elected by the people. As the result of continual 
amendment, the qualification for election to the Assembly, being only a six 
months' residence in the electorate, becomes almost universal suffrage — 
more particularly as the franchise attaches to lodgers as well as house- 
holders. Inasmuch as the proix)sal that the University should return a 
member has been always rejected, it is fair to assume that the numerical 
majority have no desii-e that education (simply as education) should have 
a voice in their comicils. The members of the Assembly are not chosen on 
account of their pre-eminent talent, or commanding wealth, or individual 
worth, but entirely from personal influence, or their expressed accordance* 
with the popular cry of the day. But it would be vain for any one, how- 
ever talented, influential, or wealthy, to seek to obtain a seat in the 
Assembly, imless he bowed down before the Juggernaut of the sovereign 
people, and avowed his sympathy with the " working man ;" and yet, 
properly so called, the working man does not exist in New South Wales. 
The hours of labour aie but eight, and wages vary according to the skill 
employed, from Is. to 2s. (occasionally 2s. 6d.) per hour. Thase extreme 
rates, in a comitry where bread is plentiful and cheap, meat only 
4d. per lb., and clothing not dearer than in Euroi.>e, are maintained 
by the efforts of powerful trades-unions, with the knowledge that Par- 
liament dare not propose any scheme of immigration, the effect of which 
would be to bring comi^etition to the colony and reduce the rate of 
labour. It nmst not be imagined that the climate will not |)ennit of 
more than eight hours' daily labour, for most men work on their own 
account after hoiu«, and will occasionally deign to do so for their em- 
ployers, under the temptation of extra pay. Land in the suburbs being 
cheap, a very large proportion of the labouring classes arc their own land- 
lords, and many, by the aid of building societies, have erected neat and 
pretty cottages, surrounded by well-cultivated ganlens. Of course a large 
proportion of the amount received for wages is handed over to the union, 
and I will venture to quote a few examples as indicative of the despotic 
ix)wer these associations exercise : — The owner of one of our coasting 
steamers will not employ men who are members of the union, and very 
recently when the steamer arrived into port she commenced discharg^g 
cargo at a wharf where union men were employed ; very shortly after, the 
secretary of the union went to the wharf, and forbade the men on shore to 
itjceive cargo from the vessel. Again, the steamer Rapide bein^ under 
repaii-s, the captain observed that one of the men employed was an habitual 
idler, and one day on finishing his work desired him not to return : the 
following morning all the rest of the men were absent, and intimated their 
intention of not returning until their fellow-miionist was taken on again. 
In the iron trade, the men, after comixjlling the eight hours' concession upon 
their emj)loyers (without diminution in the rate of wages), determined tliat 
the eight hours should be broken, one for l)reakfast and one for dimier, in- 
stead of having only one break as formerly. The masters were aware that 
the continual blowing off funiaces would entail a certain loss, declined to 
concede, and all the works were closed ; the strike lasted about three 
months, and was friendly airanged by an agreement that, during six 
months in the year the men should have only one break in the day, and 
two breaks in the day during the other six months. Some time since the 
coal miners struck work, and the strike, it was arranged by the ddiegates 
of the union, should be terminated by all the collieries in the country (irre- 
spective of the greater or less facilities of any one colliery) agreeing to 
chiu-ge the public an uniform price of 14s. per ton for screened ooal, of 
which 5s. per ton shodd be paid to the cod-getter, his wagee rising or 


f|'*'"C 3il. per Inu as tbe price of c^vi to the public varied by .i shilling: b. 
ton. 1 miglit multiply inatonces iiujumerable to allow tliat in the capita), 
wfaore the unions exist in greutcst force, all real power 19 in their hands, and 
>t the last general election they returned one of their body to parliament, 
uul vrhti sits as their paid delegtih>. It is not then extraordinary that in 
fiOBStiluenciea thus constituted, the educated classes should as a rule 
(though there are many worthy exceptions) hold themselves aloof from the 
poliUcal arena. The result is exactly what you have predicted, that thei-o 
la no party but merelya struggle between the Ins and Ools as to who shall 
enjoy power, and the parliamentary loaves and tishes, both sides rivals in 
personal abuse, but both following exactly the same policy. The State is 
certjUnJy di-ing ita utmost to place within the reach of all the advantages of 
education, but in consequence of religious dissensions that education is of a 
very elementary character, for the study of lustory and all cognate subjects 
iqKjn which diftereucee of opinion exist are pmhilrited. It is quite absurd, 
therefore, to consider that the colony is educating the rising generation up 
tu the extent of its political power, for it is left in the most complete 
ignonuice oi all economic questions, which are. not even attended to in the 
ftddresses of the candidates for legislative honours, for the liest of all 
raasoDS, that but few understand them. As might be expected, the Assembly 
an> «cc«ediDgly impatient at the control of the Upper Ilouse as a co- 
ordioate branch of tne legislature ; and when a measure liaa been rejected 
by tbe voice of the Senate, often resort to pofiular clamour to compel the 
Upper Ilouse to give way ; but the innate vigour in the life of the young 
colcnij I» such that it continues to advance and prosper, not aided by, but 
in epite of its despotic democracy. All contractore anil beads of depart- 
tnenta acknowledge that there is ample work at the present moment for at 
leASt eight thousand able-bodied men, which means an immigration of 
about thirty thousand souls ; but notwithstanding the urgent requirements 
of the colony, not one member of the Assembly can be found to raise his 
voice in favour of immieration. The colony exports over a million tons of 
oonl, the supply of which, appears to be absolutely inexhaustible, the best 
honftttt^ iron ore, lime and clay are found in close proximity to some of 
tbe pits : copper and tin ores abound, capital is abundant, but the 
caj4talist is afraid of investing in manufacturing industries, as he would 
be completely at the mercy of the men in his employ. To give an example : 
■ shiptmilJer has now a vessel on the stocks, and was offered a very 
handsome price for it if be would engage to complete it by a fixed dat«. 
The shipbuilder knew that the work could and would be dona by the dato 
wjnired, but dared not make the contract, feeling sure that if it came by 
any chance to the cars of the union they would take advantage of the cir- 
cumstance to raise the rate of wages upon him. I believe that what I 
h»TO ■written will be quite suffident, without further occupying your valu- 
•liift tinie,.lo show that you have certainly not exaggerated your prognosti- 
otlonA of England's future." 

The above commimication needs no commentary, but I may 
perhaps be allowed to supplement it by a reference to one or two 
events which Lave occurred since the publication of the firat 
edition of " Rocks Ahead," which, if I am not mistaken, are gradu- 
^ leading thoughtful minds to believe that there may be more 
Kber truth and lees flighty fancy in tlie gloomy prognostics of 
tliat volume than most of its readers were originally inclined to 

Id a note at p. 80, 1 ventured to predict that " the year 1874 
lade fair to be a year of conflict and of strikes, which would waste 


a vast amount of capital and of earnings, teach ns many leflflond, 
and clinch many of the arguments of this paper." Whether it has 
taught UB many leBsone may be questioned, but assuredly it haa 
done eveTything else tliat was anticipated from it. It bafl been 
pre-eminently a year of Btrikes, and of hopeless, gigautio, and 
■wasteful ones, in this country ; and in others also, so differently 
situated as, one might have fancied, to have been exempted froin 
onr troubles. The Sydney letter just quoted shows ns the operation 
of trades unions — just as aelfish, just as cruel, just as anti-social, 
short-sighted, and auicidal, in a new coantiy lacking labour, 
cramped and kept back for want of labour, and where labour in 
consequence can, in a great measure, command its own terms — ae 
in an old country like England, where labour is, or is alleged to 
be, redundant, and therefore the aoi-dUani "slave of capitaL" 
America has been suffering from strikes so menacing and bo pro- 
longed that the troops, even in that land of demooraoy, have been 
called out to repress disturbances. The Philadelphia corTespondent 
of one of the New York journals writes :* — 

" Scarcely any other topic hajs been prevalent in business circles during 
the past week than the all-absorbiag oDe of the coal strike, the situation at 
the mises, the departure of troops from this and other points to the scene 
of trouble, and the conflicting rumours constantly received by wire as to the 
actnd condidon of affairs. Probably at no period since the war has tliere 
been so gravely serious a position of aiTairs in our countty ao that now 
existing between the various labour imioaa and the industries with which 
they are connected. Here we have the largest manufactaring city in the 
world, with positively no more than three weeks' supply of coal on band, 
even for household uses. From the iuterior the most reb'able informatlfMi 
exists that few if any of the fnmaces and other ironwo:^ have any fuel, 
even for present uses, while their previous production has been serioo^y 
interfered with. It is estimated that not less than one hundred thousand 
persons, and even _five hundred millions of capital, in this commonwealth 
alone, are to-day producing nothing. At the ordinary price of skilled 
labour, 2 dollars per day, this number of persons unemployed represents a 
daily loss of 200,000 di^ai-s, a loss which no commnnity can stand. The 
additional loss to capital by injuiy and deterioration of iifie machinery, and 
loss of interest, will swell the aggregate damage to one of frightful propor* 
tions, and one which must soon be sensibly felt by tlie general puoUc 
The aettlemeut of the labour troubles of the country is now the subject 
which should and must engage the earnest atteution of all cln^ses of 
citizens, or we are inevitably drifting into a condition of anarchy and law- 
lessness, which will be followed by a more serioua finandal panic than tbftt 
from which we had hoped we were recovering. There are grave wrongs 
on both sides to he settled, and nothing seems more likely to secure any 
permanent relief ttiMi a well-digested plan of arbitration in all labour dis^ 
putes, which shall be compulsory on both parties. The latest report* as tu 
the coal strike indicate a poasibiUty of a settlement, but in other branches 
— among ironworkers, weavers, glass-blowers, and the very uuraeroue 
tradesmen on strike — there seems no greater prospect of improvement than 

* Otli<7r papers rtdd the cnla Lttntioo that the tnJue of tlie I'apital Ijis^ idle id Fennmt 
Tuiin U Bhout Ave huDdrcil milliooB of doUiirg, usi tha lou of Intorflit not lNBjk|B_ 
76,000 dollin per itj. J^^l 


h since. "Eo the capilaiist and mnunraotiirer llie situation ia, there- 
s,"oMt r.reTrtreme concern, aiid through them rellewted on the entire buai- 
m onimiUHty." 

Lftsllv (to pass over several stmgglos of a eimilar character, 
^lyiit ijf slighter dimensioDs, which have taken place in Belgiuni. 
t^erraany, and France^, the great South Wales conflict iii the iron 
r^xid coal trade, which has absorhed bo much public attention this 
spring, Iiae presented features unusually disheartening. We have 
J30 dcairc to enter upon any points which might excite or renew 
oowtroversy or painful feeling, or to express opinions on subjects 
c»ii which, perhaps, only thoBC on the spot, and who have followed 
tliB subject in all its details and autccedents, are qualified to pro- 
nounce. The lock-out may have been an injudicious and possibly 
an nuwarrau table stop ; intire patience might have been shown at 
the outset, and fuller infonnati<)n might have been vouchsafed 
to unreasonable raen ; the conduct of the union leaders may 
.been leaa condeninable than appears. But three or four fea- 
etand out, and have stood out. undisputed from the outset. 
obvious to all qualified outside observ-om from the first that 
!n liad 110 case and no cliance of success j the essential facts 
.tent to the whole world ; it is difficult to believe that the 
or their leaders really disbelieved the statements of the 
as to prices and profits; the subject was one on which (if 
•) the working men were especially qualified to judge ; not 
organ of the independent press failed to point out the 
of tiie coUierw, and to prove that they were hopelossly in 
ig. Yet all this was of no avail. Tlie struggle was one 
liar obstinacy. Numbers wislied to return to work on the 
ired terms ; but whenever a meeting was held to pass a resolu- 
tion and to open negotiations to this effect, the windy oratory 
of «ime voluble speaker re-faimed the flame, le-awakened the 
fl«ggiiig passions, and oveipowered tlie awakening good sense of 
the auditors, and the meetiug ended by determiuing to return to 
another period of distress and idleness. This went on week after 
Week, in spite of the efforts of Lord Aberdare, Mr. Braasey, and 
olier tried friends of the colliers, to guide them to a %viser sense 
ttf their own interests, and a truer view of facts — -every week 
Mcrificiiig £00,000 to the workers, aud incalculable sums to their 
mipIoyiTs, plunging tlie labfmrers deeper and deeper into suffer- 
Uif; and debt ; and it was not till the retail traders could no longer 
give cr^t ; till the masters bad been forced to announce that 
iny r«tuim to work must be at 15 per cent,, and not at 10 
[»» cent, reduction, that the ciniflict was given up, and then only 
gndually, slowly, and partially. From the first there was no 
ud (or none worth speaking of) from union funds, given or pro- 
mised; from the first there was no hope of victory; from 


the lirst the workmen could quote no facts or calculations to afford 
even a colourable justification of their proceedings ; from the first 
there was the experience of two years ago to warn and to instruct 
them ; yet from first to last did every public meeting held allow 
itself to be turned aside from the obviously wise and inevitable 
course, by exhortations addressed solely to the feelings. The 
millions wasted constitute the least sad feature of this sad history;* 
the only bright feature is the singularly orderly and peaceful 
behaviour of the workmen out of employ — ^behaviour so different 
from what it has often been elsewhere, and from what it used to 
be in similar circumstances in former years. But for those who 
hoped that the labouiing and well-paid poor — ^the masses of the 
new constituencies — would prove in real emergencies their fitness 
to exercise the franchise, to recognize their true friends, to mani- 
fest the courage of individuaUty, and to withstand the misrepre- 
sentations of fluent declaimers — the lessons of the conflict just 
ended have been dispiriting indeed. 

We see nothing in all tliis wherewith to reproach the Welsh 
miners, no reasonable matter for surprise. Reproach shotdd be 
reserved for the stump oratora and union leaders who so success- 
fully excited and misled them ; sui-prise, and perhaps some specific 
condenmation, for the poKticians, of whatever party, who, in 1867 


* Tho conflict lasted nearly twenty-two weeks, and the number of miners, kc^ 
directly oat of work was upwards of 58,000, besides many more, probably 12,000, 
employed in subsidiary labour — in all 70,000. We have now lying before na more 
than one careful calculation of the loss of earnings to the men, and of interest on capital 
to the masters resulting from this disastrous contest. The following, from the Merth/r 
Express^ includes all collateral losses, and may perhaps bo regarded as extreme if not 
extravagant : — 

Coalowners in sale of coal £2,100,000 

Ironmasters in iron and steel 2,150,000 

Railway companies 264,000 

Waggon hire • 100,000 

Royalties 150,000 

Dock dues 100,000 

Maintenance of pits, plant, horses, &c 250,000 

Local trade 1,000,000 

Workmen's wages, direct 8,000,000 

Relief administered by Guardians 25,000 

Total £9,139,000 »• 

Lord Aberdare, in a letter to the South Wales Daily News, shows that the of loaa 
wages to tho men must have reached £3,000,000. The loss to capitalists is, ho says, 

The ordinary estimate to all parties is £5,000,000, and this will probably be found not 
« far from the truth. 



'3fi/l afterwards, so resolutely maintained that working men every- 
where were now far too Bober-nunded and enlightened to be 
rtcited by Btiuup oratory, or led astray by fallacious miarGpreeenta- 
tiuns, and were capable of standing firm to their own knowledge 
auiJjadginent agaijist the swaj-ing sympathy of surrounding and 
dwuting mimbers. Partisans now are heard to express sui-prise 
and dismay at the results of the late elcclions at Stoke, Stafford, 
Mttthyr. Stroud, and other boroughs, who were among the fore- 
most, to insist a "very few years ago upon quadrupling or sextuphug 
tlieir constituencies. Blind guides ! to affect amazement at the 
fiirt fniits of their own work I In what country, I would ask, 
would an uneducated and unprepared class, thus suddenly invested 
wilh potentially supreme power, have acted with so much dis- 
pwtion, or wrought so httle mischiefl Let us look a httle in 
detail at Tvbat waa done by the Act of 1867. In nearly every one 
of the boroughs whose elections have caused disappointment and 
Miiiety to the nation the constituency was not enlarged, but wholly 
chsnged. The former electors included (to speak broadly) the 
whole of the educated classes: — the great mass of the new electors 
oust therefore have conswtcd of the wholly or comparatively un- 
edocated classes. Yet the new ones are four or Jive to one of the. old. That 
1^ tiie electoral supremacy was virtually wrested from the men of 
trained pohtical intelligence, and given over, by a vast prepouder- 
UiCt, into the hands (to express the fact as guardedly as possible) 
of men who had not had any such intelHgent training. To say 
ibt the borough electors of England and Wales were suddenly 
itoed from 514,000 in 1866 to 1,452,000 in 1875 (or nearly 20nper 
Hot), is only a most inadequate and disguising statement of the 
**9i for that only says that every elector had two fresh ones 
phoed on the register to countervail his vote. We must look at 
■ndividual instances, where the working classes are strongest and 
mom concentrated ; and here often the new out-number, eclipse, 
wd neutralize the old in the proportion of five, six, sometimes fijht 
*<' jime to one. We append a table giving the proportions in 
*hidi the electors have been multiplied by what my readers mil, I 
^k, now admit I had a right to call " the revolution " of 1867. 

^Tbat imicH THE Kleotors had Ihcbeasbd between 1S66 AND 1875. 


50 and 


100 percent. 

W) and 

300 per t'ent. 

300 and 

500 per cent 

per ceut. 

and above 








) who look at the matter from a purely party point of 
Q 2 



view, it may be a sufficient sedative witli alamiist temperaments ' 
to reply, that, of two Parliaments elected under houBehoIdlJanchiHe, 
one returned a large Liberal and the next a large Conservative 
majority. To others, whose uneaainees lies in the direction of 
tliminifihed reverence for property, it is enough to remark that 
probably no Parliament ever contained so many plutocrats as that 
of 1875, But we may explain our meaning without personality 
(except, perhaps, one which will be mth most people ita own 
L-xcuee) by reference to a few special returns. The constituency 
of MerthtjrTydi'il spnmg up from 1387 to 15,806, or about tutelw- 
fold, and Merthyr returned ilr. Richards, an eminently respectable 
Nonconformist minister, in the place of Mr. Bruce, an einineut and 
experienced statesman and Cabinet minister. Morpeth increased its 
conetituency from 485 to 5,559 or upwards of eleoen-fold, and hae 
exchanged another Home Seoretaiy, veteran and popular, for a, 
working-men's candidate, thoroughly respectable and trustworthy, 
we believe, but aa yet untrained. WohierJuimplon, indeed, has 
quintapUd its number of electors, but retains ita old represeiitataves, 
and so in the main has Wiijan, But poor Stroud, witli more than a 
JoiiT-foM augmentation of the electoi-ate, is so disorganized, that, 
since the lamented Mr. Winterbotham's death, it has never been 
able to get a representative at all, WTiile, to crown the list. Stoke- 
iipon-Treiil, on the retirement of Mr, Melly (a member of sufHciently 
adAnced political ojrinions), has replaced him by Dr. Keuealy, who 
was oei-tainly not elected on account of any politioal opiuious at 
all. But then the Stoke which Mr. Melly represented had ^50U 
electors, while the Stoke which is conteuted to bo represented by 
Dr. Kenealy has 19,500 — and, therefore, in no rational sens© can 
the two electorates be said to be the same. It may veiy well bo 
that the whole of the (},110 who voted for Kencaly may baro 
been made by Mr. Disraeli's Reform Act. 

Now, what does Dr. Kenealy's return indicate and prove F 
Circumstiinces in this case happily enable us to apeak wltli perfects 
phiinnees, and at the same time witliout offence, ErriiEB tlii^ 
(■lectors of Stoke (bj' no moans a pe(!uliarly uneducated or unin — 
telUgent set ; perhaps rather the reverse) really bcheved the*- 1 
Claimant to be Tichbome, and his advocate the gallant ilefeuder"^ 
of an oppressed man — that is. they wero oonvinced of the tnith o^5 
a position wTiich two Courts of Justice, after investigationa o^^, 
unequalled scarchingness and duration, had pronounced to b^S 
unquestionably false — a prououncemeut which t!»e House of Com- — ^ 
nions confirmed with a unanimity quite unparalleled, for tlie onlj=^ 
dissentients were Dr. Kenealy and his secondir— a ooncInuoi^M^ 
which, after the finnuning up of the Lord Cliief JuaHcu, it »eeme?^ 
impossible for rational minds to withstand. 
too much to assume that men who believe f 


tmlikely to beBeve anytiiing in spite of any evidence and any 
argoments; their intelligence and fitness for the franchise must be 
far below the level which their friends have hitherto maintained. 
Or, as no donbt was the case with many, they supposed, Avith the 
rest of us, that the Claimant was Orton ; but his defender was 
popular just because his cause was bad^— because, in fact, here 
was a daring lawyer who had stood up against the world for a 
butcher against a baronet — in short. Dr. Keniealy's election was 
the result of a class feeling of the verjr wordt* sort. Oh,- the real 
pervading impression assigned by Punch to the mass was the 
cwrect one, however dim and self-contradictory : — " I don't care 
whether he was Tichbome, or Casti-o, or Orton, or who he was ; 
but I don t like to see a poor man kept out of his rights." Or, 
finally, and with too many, the motive impulse for their vote was 
simply that they had found a man (not himself of too spotless 
antecedents) with audacity and pluck to assail^ on behalf of one 
of their own order, judges, juries, gentlemen, nobles, hostile 
witnesses, an outvoting Parliament — any one, in short, however 
high in reverence and station — ^in a foul-mouthed fashion, which 
almost sanctioned or threw into the shade their own too cus- 
tomary language. In a word, the popularity and success of 
Dr. Kenealy at Stoke, whether regarded as the product of 
deficient intelligence or distorted sentiment, are almost equally of 
evil omen ; for there is not the faintest reason for supposing the 
Stoke constituency to be an exceptional one, or that any large 
borough might not do as Stoke has done ; — and if we are right in 
fclxis assumption, then we have no security whatever that on any 
<2tae8tion — class, personal, religious, international, or other — ^the 
majority of the constituency may not, swayed by a coarse 
►ecies of oratory, arrive at decisions utterly at variance with 
^"^nidence, soimd sense, wise poKcy, and the national interest, or 
'en safety. There is no reason in the world why half a dozen 
►jrics (more naturally stimulating than the Tichbome case) 
ight not, under the management of a skilful declaimer (and 
.^re are scores far abler than Dr. Kenealy), get extraordinary 
^-^ild upon the popular mind, be selected as the crucial question at 
^l actions, sweep over the length and breadth of the land, and 
^ii.row all others into the background. Nor, obviously, if we are to 
l^^dge by Stoke, is there any reason why, on each one of these, 
^lie great body of the working classes — ^the new electorate — should 
^ot be misled into a decision as absurd as the one just sent us as a 
Naming. Nor, in the last place, is there the slightest doubt that 
rfihey should be so misled, they will be able to place the repre- 
sentative of their delusion at the head of the poll. 

It appears to me that not one of these positions can be gainsaid 
or weakened, and that, as a whole, they are full of evil omen. 


Is 1**7 ^"^ placed ill the hands of the uneducated nuiHseB 1 
■0WW iif returmiig whatever members of Parliament tliey plewe : 
^ l^t j they showed you that, under excitement, not of the 
t or grandest order even, they may exercise that power in 
1 that seemed incredible to all men of intelligence — 
lorse cuthusiaatieally a monstrous delusion which no 
t delusion can surpass or even match. It will be said. 
*7%i» ms a purely accidental and abnormal phrenzy : the artisans 
«t» vtoi as a rule given to such aberrations ; look how few can- 
^ti]kt*M of their own class they returned." True, I reply, they do 
■ot md will not usually go so far astray, and they have not very 
0«at triitit in their own leaders; but grant that a man arises 
(Uitoug them with character to gain tlieir confidence, and 
tJi'quetice to command their allegiance and sway their minds^ 
and tlie supposition is possible enough — and where will be your 
wutidote to the supremacy which you have given thera at the 
pull t " You are conjuring up imaginary dangers," others will 
allege ; " the mass of the householders admitted by the Act of 
1867 are far elirewder tlian those at Stoke ; and, after all, where 
are the questions on which they will listen to tlie nonsense of 
damaged and extravagant orators?" Again I answer: Do you 
not in your heart beheve that if by any legal flaw the Claimant 
had escaped his doom and been set free, he might have been 
returned to Parliament by fifty constituencies at least — more than 
Lamartine in 1848, or Thiers in 1872. across the Channel 1 And us 
to questions regarding which the majority of borough eleotora 
might on occasions be aroused to au excitement at once discredit- 
able, ignorant, irrational, sweeping, and pernicious, what do you 
think of No Popery, the Contagious Diseases Act, Masters and 
Servants Act, the Conspiracy Act, and the like ? What would be 
the prospect of a general election, if the country were adequately 
harangued by itinerant declaimers, when a second Trent aflair 
was the uppermost topic ia the public mind ? And, to conclude, 
who can be blind to the fact that a vast majority of our popula- 
tion are far less well off than they fancy tlioy have a claim to be, 
and than tlioy are satisfied that certain social, legal, fir pohtical 
changes, or hazardous anti-economical experiments might make 
them, — that they are dangeiously prone to listen to eloqnence of 
the shallowest sort on these topics, and that skilftil and plaiisfble 
orators might easily, in periods of distress, combino all this fluating 
feeUng into a focus, and perhaps even drive it into united action? 
"Stnigglea where the veiy framework of oindem society m«. 
threatened are as ominous for ourselves as for our neighbours. JHM 
litstory of trade unionism, for example, is the history of a gi%<lj^^^| 
spreading organization which tends to unite the working d^^^l 
of the country ngidnet flie ciipitalists. The iflcnl at whii.-h it^^^| 


would be one in which the labourers of all countries should be 
tmited in one vast alliance. The workmen who begin to see the 
danger of foreign competition answer, not by abandoning their 
own combinations, but by endeavouring to bring foreign work- 
men into harmony with themselves. The attempts made in that 
direction have hitherto been feeble ; but they have a tendency to 
extend. However much we may laugh at the nonsense talked at 
Geneva conferences, they indicate the spread of a discontented 
feeUng beyond the limits of any one country, and a disposition in 
the working classes throughout the world to regard themselves 
as natural allies in a struggle with their employers. Questions, 
sach as we have been recently discussing, about extension of the 
{ranchise and the disestablishment of the Church, may amuse work- 
men for a time ; but they naturally feel that they could use the power 
of which they are becoming conscious for purposes much more 
closely affecting their own interests. The beUef that a man can get 
better food and lodging as the reward of a successful agitation is 
much more exciting than any prospect of purely political changes." 

Dangers, that are comparatively insignificant when single, 
magnify enormously in dimensions when two or three come upon 
u« simultaneously or in combination. Given two bad harvests in 
succession, a dull or failing trade in many branches, a couple of 
leaders moderately fluent and skilled in organization, and unions 
with treasury chests tolerably full, and we may then begin to see 
with some amazement what we did when we gave over the 
dectoral supremacy of England to a majority of householders, of 
whom the 6,110 who voted for Kenealy are not unfair samples. 

Our parochial and municipal representative bodies are not 
usually regarded as models of enlarged or enUghtened wisdom. 
Yet if only we voted for the empire on as safe and sagacious a 
principle as that which we follow in voting for a paiish ! — if only 
we elected our House of Commons as rationally as we elect our 
vestries 1 — we might escape some grave perils and some startling 
anomalies. I never Uke giving arguments in my own words when 
I can avail myself of better and weightier words by others. I 
will therefore crave permission here to quote (largely abridged) a 
letter which appeared several weeks ago in the Pall Mall Gazette, and 
which seems to me to need no addition, and to admit of no refutation. 

" Sm, — To study my countrymen, I often pro to that assembly which 
Sir Henry Maine tells us is far older than either Parliament or Monarchy — 
the parish vestry. I there can become acquainted with the lowest class 
of voters, and see what sort of men our future masters are likely to prove. 
Scarcely less instructive, perhaps, are those elections to the local boards of 
health which from one end of the country to the other have just been held. 
In Uiese great weight is given to wealth and to wisdom, for, in spite of all 
the rich foob and poor saints that can be brought forward to refute me, 
wifldcun is, I maintain, the companion of wealth, and not of poverty. For 



the most part, the iiiao who has saved a potmd is wiser tlian the man who 
has not saved a peuny; the iiiaii who has a gvx)d cuat on his back ia wiii«r 
than the man who is in rag« ; the man who has a gixA niof above his bewl 
is wiser than the man who lives in a hovel. We tuay carry it fiuther, and 
say that there is more wisdom to be found in a house of eif^ht rooms tbiui 
in a house of four ; and that he who can afford to pay a rent of £t>0 ift 
likely b) lie a wiser man than lie wlio can only aSord to pay a rent of £30. 
In a local board of health election, then, it would be reasonable to expotc 
that the more inteihgent classes would, without much trouble, carry tlie 
day; for while in the parliaraentary eitctifm a man of wealth has but one 
vote, in a board of health election he may have no fewer than twelve. It 
so happens that I have myself just taken an active part in tine of these 
electjons, and though we fought under tlie most favourable cii'CiinLBtanoes, 
and though there was a eingnlar agreement amongthe larger householders, 
yet our victory was but a narrow one. Had we voted for men to irovidp 
us with pure water and well- ventilated sen-ers on the same \Am\ as that on 
which we vote for men to provide ua with those trifling matters an army, 
a navy, or laws, we should have been hoi>elessIy defeated. 

"All growing villages and towns are, I hold, in one of three states. 
They have either had a i-isilation of typhoid fever, or they are having it, 
or they are going to have it. We, happily, have had oiu' visitation. The 
lesson was a very sharp one, but it ba6 left us — those of us who are left, 
that is to say — better citizens, and far more alive to the duties which 
attach to us as members of a coinnmnity. A few years ago it was with us 
a reproach to a man to take part in parish matters. It is now an honour. 
For years the elections to the l>oard of health had excited no interest. 
Their proceedings, indeed, from time to time amused us, as we re^ In our 
local paper that one member had threatened U> punch another's head or 
pull his nose. Meanwhile, this ignorant board was <|uietly turning all the 
streams into open sewers, and, to meet the needs of the rapidly growuig 
population, had half poisoned the pure supply of water which we gi^t from 
the chalk by mixing with it the landspruig water drawn from beneath a. 
large market-garden hif^hly divssed with Lqndon manure. If London halt 
poisoned us, we, b our turn, did our best to poison London. An ingenious 
marketr-gardener was allowed to tap the drain that come from our bosptt^ 
— a hospital in which our fever cases are imraed — and to tuni the sewage 
on to his waten.Tesa beds. But I need not go into further details. Tho 
death-rate steadily rose, rents us sitadily fell, houses stood empty, the 
cemetery was enlarged, the nudertakera looked cbeerful ; we tidked of 
mysteiious dispensations, but for a time we blamed the board but Uttle, 
ourselves not at all. We had,' indeed, at last begim to make a stir, and 
had done something, when there came upon us an outbreak of typhoid 
fever. In a few weeks over 300 persons were struck down with it. and in 
that year fe\'era carried off between forty and fifty. The Local ti'ivemment 
Board sent down one of their medical Inspectoi's. lie did not confine his 
attention to our foul ditches, our unventilated sewers, our iuipuru water 
supply. Bad though these were, he was bold enough to show us that we 
ourselves were almost worse. We had neglected our plainest duties by b» 
long leaving to the ignorant the care of the health of the whole communitj-. 
He gave us some lessons in sanitary matters as admirable as they went 
simple, and urged us to form a sanitarj- association. This we at mice did. 
We Instructed oursehes, and by means of pamphlets and broad-sherta w^ 
did all we could to instnict our neighbours. When the next election came 
round, we carried in two of Ihe l>est members of our assodatiun. 

" The opposition that had been organized now for the first time looked 
fomudahle, and tite publicans, with one bright exception, were to a man 
agunst OH. If I am not mistaken in my numbers, wie had an enib^|Hi] 
phalanx of no fewer than fifty-one publicans to fight. Bach siilB ffllH 
its hardest. The enemy took to projihenyuig, sud we took to factii;|^^^H 


ptrish was canvaased from home to house as it had never been canvassed 
before. In the course of the canvassing I happimoed to come across a 
French refugee who lives in the parish. He flatly refused to vote at all, 
as the voting was not by universal suffrage. In vain I pointed out that as 
the occupier of a house he was surely entitled to secure for his house a 
good supply of pure water. He did not recognize, he loftily replied, 
houses or property. lie knew of nothing but men. As he did not vote as 
as a man, he would not vote at all. Well, air, to cut a long story short, 
we carried three out of four seats, but we carried them by very hard work 
and by small majorities. Had we been votituf iiot for members of a local 
boiurdf but for members of the great council of the empire^ tee should have been 
hapeltssly beaten. We fought with success in a great measure because we 
fought with confidence, and we fought with confidence because we knew 
that intelligence would not be swamped by mere numbers. We had left, 
indeed, nothing undone to win the votes of the smallest voters, and not a 
few we did secure. We put a plain statement of facts beforo them, but 
we found that the printing-press was no fair match for the pot-house. 

" Now, sir, if the scene of this contest had been at Stoke, and if Dr. 
Kenealy had chosen to put himself forward as a candidate for the board of 
health of that town, I have no doubt that neither his resemblance to 
Cromwell and Milton nor his own impudence would have saved him from 
utter defeat. The men of property, the men of character, the men of 
sense, the men who had shown strength of mind to overcome the tempta- 
tions of the present, and to lay up for the future, the men who had not 
eaten or drui^ up to their earnings, but had begun with small savings, and 
had seen these small savings grow into large savings, would have all gone 
eagerly and heartily into a contest where their worth and their knowledge 
woold.jQOt be swamped bv the ignorance of a mob. The day may come 
when some monstrous delusion, some lie gross as a. mountain, open, pal- 
pable, may throughout England seize on the lowest and largest body of 
voters as a class, as it has lately seized on the new voters of Stoke. 
Should such a storm of passionate prejudice sweep over the land, the men 
of common sense, the men who have made England what it is, would, if 
they tried to stem it, find themselves clean swept away. Parish politics 
have often been a byword among us. I, for my part, in my search after 
political wisdom, would rather watch the people voting in their parishes 
than study all the works of all the philosophers who have begun by 
studying, not men, but Man. — I am Sir, your obedient sen-^t, 

" i4/>n7 20^." "A Pakish PoLmciAN. 

For dangers such as those to which I have for the second time 
ventured, Cassandra-like, to call the attention of my countrymen, 
there are obviously but two safeguards, the spread of education 
and of property extensively among the labouring classes; But 
are Hiose safeguards adequate ? Are they coming 'J and will thoy 
come in time ? Is the education we are giving of the right sort, 
and given to the people who need it? And is the accumulation 
of property becoming the characteristic of our well-paid artizans ? 
For my part I can scarcely rely on the; timeliness or efficacy of a 
inedicihe- gingerly administered in 1875, and not oven expected 
b operate till 1890; and how far have the extraordinary wages 
pud for the last few years gone to turn otir mechanics and opera- 
tives into capitalists] What proportion of the millions dis- 
tabaied has gone -with the savings banks, and what to the 
publican and sinner ? W. R. Greg. 


THE Homeiio coutroverej has engaged the euergieaofn ^ 
and powerful combatants for nearly a centuiy, witli varying 
success, and, though the issues have seemed from time to time bo 
complicated as to be inextricable, the interest of scholars, instead 
of dimimshing, deepens with eveiy new phase of the contest. Ever 
since the great assault on the unity of either poem, by Fr. A. Wolf 
(" Prolegoiuoua," 1795), the fortune of the field has wavered; for 
while certain hostile positions have been made good by both parties 
respectively, the entrenchments of each remain uncaptured ; and 
80 the struggle over Homer has been like one of his own batt'"" 

iruXXa S' op ivBa. kui ivff Wotri jtaXH "" 

On its first appearance, the Wolfian theory carried everj 
before it in Germany, and the startling doctrine which the greSt 
critic promulgated, that the Homeric poems were a congeries of 
originally independent lays, gathered together and moulded into 
a unity in the time of PisiBtratus fahout B.C. oHO), was received 
with favour not only among scholars, such as Heyno and Niebuhr, 
but also in the general circles of hterature, where Herder hailed it 
as opening up new and important aspects of popular poetry, and 
the Schlegela followed in the same vein. The easy and rapid 
acceptance of the theory seems to us, even hi these clmngeiol 
days, difficult to understand. A number of predisposing cnuseSi 
however, contributed to this result — partly the spirit of the centuty 
itself, which gloried in paradox, partly the remarkable evidtt "^ 


which had been appearing everywhere with more or less con- 
chisiveness, as to the extraordinary vitality of popular poetry, 
even under its most anonymous and imcertified character, and 
that, too, as if to exemplify the Wolfian theory, without the aid of 
literary appliances to preserve it. The Ossianic controversy, in 
particular, had opened up large vistas of vague possibility in this 
direction, and, in a fortunate hour, by a most dexterous handling of 
the evidence and a masterly marshallii^g of the phenomena, Wolf 
was able to forge the thimderbolt that shattered, in the view 
of Germany, the unity of the Homeric poems. 

The war, so grandly begun by Wolf, was continued by God- 
frey Hermann, and William Muller, who carried on a vigorous 
polemic, more especially against the unity of the Hiad. The 
fonner, it is true, attempted to take up separate ground of his 
own, in his doctrine of an "Ur-Lias" and an "Ur-Odyssee" — an 
original nucleus to each poem, around which the congeries of lays 
had been acciunulated. Substantially, however, he stands on the 
Wolfian basis. Next to him in importance among the later 
Wolfians, and, in the opinion of many, the greatest of the Wolfian 
school after Wolf himself, stands Lachmann, who (in his " Betrach- 
tungen," 1843) gave a new direction, as w.ell as a new impetus, to 
the controversy, and from him the modem Wolfians are often 
styled ** die Lachmannianer." His work was especially an attempt 
to exhibit the actual sutures between the supposed originally com- 
ponent lays ; and the dissection of the "Iliad " was carried forward 
by him with much minuteness, in the same way as the compara- 
tively viU corpus of the " Nibelungen Lied" had been operated upon 
in his earlier days by his apprentice-hand. The result was that 
the Iliad was resolved into a group of eighteen lays, and the 
Lachmann view is known as the " Klein-lieder-Theorie." 

A reaction, however, arose, and a school of critics sprang up of 
a more conservative character, who were able, by a more thorough 
siirvey of the historical conditions of the case, to reconquer many 
of the apparently lost positions. Among these may be named 
especially Ottfried Muller, Welcker, and Gregor W. Nitzsch,* the 
last of whom, by his voluminous and weighty works, has dealt 
very powerful blows at the Wolfians, so that he may well be 
caDed « Malleus Wolfianorum." 

The great authority of Goethe — on a question as to organic 
'Uttty of immense weight — was on the whole in tJbe anti-Wolfian 
«cale. In a letter to Schiller, immediately after the appearance of 
the ** Prolegomena," he characterized the theory as arbitrary and 
subjective, and he seemed to resent the intrusion of this wild boar 

*I>&]itzer (AbhandL, 1872, p. 409), althongh himself a Wol6an, pats a high valae on 
Mtneh*! lilwiirt in a scientific point of view, and adds, regarding him, Si Pergama dextra 
^fouMpouenty etiam hac de/ensa /vissent. 



into what he called the " fairest gardens of the feethedc WOI 
The most intevcating utterance which he has given* cpon tll« 
point is the view expressed iii his little ebetch, " Homer noch 
einmal," which represcnta hie matnred opinion, when, at the 
period of tho reaction, ho was able to realize a "Homer oni-'O 
more," after "tlic sundering and disSecting proceeS of tlijj 
eighteenth coutury" was over, and the harmonising spirit,. as 1*9 
calls it, of tho nineteenth had bogiin. 

Of late years, however, notwithstanding tho powoifiil reaction a 
generation ago, Germany has again gone over largely to tliv 
Wolfian camp. The stream of opinion is flowing, aecordjDg to 
Nutzhom," strongly in that directiou, and there is a whole ^hool 
of " Lachmannianer" {among whom is iueludod the distuigwiahed 
name of Georg Oirtins, a Wolfian on philologie gi-ouuds), who, in 
divoi's ways, not always verj- accordant with either of their great 
masters or themselves, parcel out the primary lays of thf " llyiA" 
and oven of the "Odyssey," -with the most confident precigioii. 
Foremost among these may bo named Arminius Kochly, wtio w 
usually looted on as the most pronounced exponent of the doirj- 
nant Wolfian theoiy. In particular ho has, with more of valour 
than discretion, put in tj-pe a text (3f the " Ihad" up^in Wolfian 
principles, in which, by the ejection of tho lice containing the 
iias jSouXt) of the ExordiTim, and by other similar operations, 
the "Iliad" falls asunder into sixteen independent lays.t The 
influence of this school, however, cannot in the nature of things 
be permanent. It might have been othoi-wiso if the Kochly 
doctrine had boon confirmatory of the Lachmanu, so as to exhibit 
exactly the same cleavage of strata as prevailnig in tln^ etructiire 
of the poems; but when each leading champion exlitbita sections 
of his own, and there is no approach to unanimity in their own 
camp (witness the extensive and veiy effective polemic of the 
Wolfian Diintzer against both Lachmann (ind Kochly),^ jt is rtot 
likely that the scliool will be in the end victorious. 

It is evident, however, from the immense liflld which the 
Wolfian view has obtained of the patient and honest and per- 
severing mind of Germany, that there must be a couMderoble 
amount, at all events, of prima facie evidence jn its favour ; J and. 
in point of fact, the difficulties involved in tlje Homeric qaestion 

* "T.'mtx bkbeD Nltuah und Bitiinilriii aoeh ihra AohtftiHcr, aber ila- Stnta gthtllMta 
'n d(>r vuD LiLcLunBUQ uiiji?gol4(>aaii Ricbtung.". Natzbom, p. 148. ^\Ao EnWa-, 

tutk ediait AnniiimB Kuebly, Ti 

Unn^wotMi dor Homcrisclipn (Jcdichto. Il 
!,t. "Iliftdi" C»nniBa XVL- 
Tcnboor, 18G1. 

t NitaMh has left u Tomarltitbie confowiion of bh nuporjelicto in tbo nhiripooj' «F 
Homerio ponlrovaraj (" SiiBon-po**'*." P- 293)- After bBving compoBed a Uborloua work, 
which had for its object to ostiib|iB!i tbe sopsnta HUtbomhip — a liow whicb co' 
MntfM tendiBg tallEbtmthe diffionlty of accontitijig for two Epics of lucb nulgi 
he at a laterperiod wpotea rofulalion ot himsolf, and proBouucod in filTO 
■ntbonbip of both pocniH, 



K greater tlmu L 


mlv 8 

jed. There 


xmt onlj" the qiiestiovi aa to the oiganic unity of either poem taken 

j^epoiately, bat there is the fm-ther question of the relation of the 

cnc poem to the otlier, whetJici' they are of the same age, and can 

KjeproDoUQoed to be ofthe same authorship; and both of these qiics- 

■^ioos have to be determined Bolely fiimi tlie poems themaelvea, 

-^^'hieli are on all hands admitted to contain the oiily sufficient 

ftjid final e\'idenQe available upon the question. Unfortunately, 

lipy are all but dumb a& to themselves. Tliey ai'o so piuely oijee- 

£te tliat they seem projected, as it were, into this visible diurual 

fj)li<:f« with hardly a subjective trace adliering to them, and arc 

;ilent as the Rtars concerning their own genesis and mutual relation, 

I Socb ifi a brief history, on German soil, of the celebrated theo^^■ 

~««rtiichi when apphed to the twin stars of the Homeric poems, by 

.a» reverse operation from that of the astronomers who resolve 

T«cbul» into stars, has converted stars into nebulsa. How has it 

fjired in other countries, and specially in our own '? 

The Wolfian theory has not moved, BO powerfully as it has in Ger- 
Uiiiuy, the Itsarued world either in England or in J"rance. In the 
latter country, the cliief fruit of any scientiffc. value which can be 
traced to it is the iugeuiouii though not eatieliictory essay of M.Bur- 
iioii£,iutho Rante de Deitx Mondfs, !*<(>»>, in which a"choriiiontic" or 
KpUStist ]V)iiitiou is adoptcd,and an attempt is made to diSercntiate 
tJie-'Hiad" from the " Odyssey ." by classing tlic former with the 
Amton de ijeulM of medieval French literature, and the latter with 
the roinan iTarentures. The analogy is interesting and important, but 
it u i»ot sufficient to justify the separation from each other, under 
•lifferent genera, of two poems ho cognate in tone and stnicture,' 
when tlie ilifferences that exist csa be satisfactorily accounted for 
Uiadiflerent hypothesis. 
" omi country opinion has not departed m.uch or far from 

traditional belief, not only that each poem is a unity, 
.t-botli Imve come from one auttior. The most important 
ition iu its defence has been that of Colonel Mure, who has 
tadeavoured, not unsucoessfuUy, to meet the Wolfian positions 
puiut by pohit, and whose examination of the question is of 
Uuportouce, as it produced a conversion in. his own opinions from 
to early belief in the Wolfian theory. Mr. Gladstone, who has 
done much for the study of Homer, and who. in spite of the 
iawnnations of Duntzer, has added not a httle to our tcient'Ji<^ 
buwlt'dgc iif the Homeric poems, with a Jnfty iudifl'erenee to 
virh qufstians of critioism, seema eeldom or uever to be moved 

>' i-liiiineJ !■ D vitneBs ia turaur o( tbo unity of looe and coloiiriiig. 
riT in iiittmiin'eowlpmroon'B. in oanclpm for- 
. I r.'l loqupn.lL" (" PruUgonieun," p. poIxt.) Up plaowhare Bpoalta of tbia 
.:ijiu«titn>,' ihoitith iiB eailoiivourB (a Mnrert It ioM an Br^moaC for 
.1 artillcinl unitT. 



by a siDgle, just or imjuet, Wolfiaii ecniple. Perhaps he is ? 
It is better to enjoy the full bloom and aroma of the Eden of Greek 
Bong, asking no questions, and accepting in implicit faith where we 
have not the means or power to prove. Professor Blackie, on the 
other hand, has disuussed the question largely, and he even pro- 
noUQCes the discusaiou of it essential to a right understanding of 
the nature of the Homeric poems as the flower of early popidar 
poetry. With strong Wolfiaii leanings, and an immense appre- 
ciation of Wolf's work and genius, he yet substantially sums up 
against his doctiine of a congeries of lays. 

The greatest name among our English scholars that can be 
quoted on the Wolfian tide is that of Gtrote.' Not that he is a 
Wolfian — on the contrary, no one has shown more clearly and 
powerfully the diiHcnlties inherent in the extreme Wolfian position ; 
but he has also, in the fairest and most judicial of state- 
mente, the diiliculties of the traditional view, in so far as the "Hiad" 
is concerned. The case which he has made out against the books 
from the second to the seventh inclusive, as not belonging to tho 
original poem, is remarkably complete; and he errs chiefly in this, 
that he performs excision on some of the most splendid portions of 
the poem, and assigns these loose gems to no author in particular. 
He has, however, pointed out the path in which the solution of 
the question seems to lie, and he has, in particular, familiarized 
the Enghsh mind with the notion of an "Achilleid," as distinct from 
the "Iliad" — a view to which the whole evidence seems more and 
more to converge. 

While rejecting the Wolfian piinciple in its most pronounced form, 
partially regarding the " Iliad," entirely regarding the "Odyssey," 
Mr. Grote accepts, though somewhat doubtfully, the chorizontio 
viewofthe separate authoi-ship, and to this view the English "Left," 
if we may so call it, has generally inclined. As early as 1S20, 
Richard Payne Knight, though strong against the Wolfian doctrine, 
pronounced in favour of the chorizontio view, and the arguments 
which ho used produced a certain effect on English opinion. They 
moved Henry Nelson Coleridge, in his work on Homer, to adopt 
that position, and the usual chorizontio arguments have been 
recently presented again in a new and expanded form, in an article 
in the Edinburgh Review (April, 1871). It purports to be a review 
of the treatise of Thiersch, who, though a " choiizou," held the 
poems to be of the same age, but the reviewer attempts to make a 
great gulf of time between the " Iljiid " and the '■ OAym<^y" and* 
against all the probabihties of the case, assigns only the " Iliad" to 
Homer. Tliat is to say, the poem, wliich is considered not only 
anterior, but, in the view of many, much more ancient than the 



whose Btructiire has heeu the subject of the most Berious 
disputatiou, is the one about which we are mipposed to know most; 
whereaa the other, which is nearer to us, and cornea closer to the 
dawn of history, is the one about which we know least — being 
tlitiB nttrihutcd to an ^nknow^l rhapsodiet, at a time when much 
las remarkable poems of a kindred order, known as the cyclic 
\ioeinB, were confidently asPigned each to a separate author, 
liiatorieally determinable. This form of the chorizontic doctrine 
involves the reduction of the " Odyssey" to the rank of a cychc 
poem, and, what is more, a cyclic poem at the extremity of the 
•eries of the cychw. when the Sagas were fading away in the 
approftcliinp; dawn of history, and yet the only cyclic of the Trojan 
»erio8 that does not come before us with a fairly accredited desig- 
uatiori iif iiiithorship. The presimiption is entirely the other way, 
that the name of Homer is more likely to belong specially to the 
poem which has passed through fewest clianges, is artistically 
mure perfect in its structure, and constitutes a unity, than to the 
jwem wliich is on good grounds considered more remote, has 
pWKd through greater clianges, beare marks of a less harmonious 
(tracture, and contains the complex elements — if complex elements 
«n to he assamed as existing in cither poem — in the most pro- 
nonnced and extensive foiTo. 

Wo may remark further, as tending to show the weakness of 
this chorizontic notion, in so far as it assigned the "Ihad"tD 
"Homer" and left the "Odyssey" without an author, that although 
iht ancients had their chorizontes, as we now know from the 
Venetian Schoha, these produced no real impression on ancient 
ifaoii^t. In the long array of ancient autliorities in Clinton's 
"Fasti Helletiici" as to the date of Homer, it is curious to note 
that among all the investigators (and they uiclude such names as 
Arintotle and Eratosthenes), there is not one that ventures on a 
double date, which, however.ought to be a necessity if the "Eiad" 
and " Odyssey " are to be separated, as is done in the elaborate 
articlu to which we have referred, by a period of two or even 
thrcti generations. 

In this rapid review of the leading phases of English opinion, 
it Would be unfair to omit notice of the pecuhar position occupied 
by one of our greatest hving scholais upon the question. 
Frederick A, I'aley has accumulated a considerable amount of 
argument, of no ineffective kind, to show the prceiirions condition 
(if the Homerio test philologically ; and the view he has found 
hitnsetf compelled to adopt goes to affirm that the Homer that 
we now have is a comparatively late production,* that it can he 

D Mi "Cratyliia" fp. Tl), nscfl aimlliir Inngunge, wilhout alatiEg his 
K lh«t "tilt 'Eiad wid 'Odjmy,' as wo haTo Ib^m, ore littlo more 
i(n of the! oriKin«l norlis." 


discenied as exifitiiig only from about t!ie time of Herodotus, ttaft J 
the Homer uf Pindar waa a different Homer from ours, with otiier 
and moi'e varied legends, and that the poeraa as we now have 
them must have been put into their present shape in or about the 
Periclcaii tinie. The scepticism of Wolf did not proceed to tius 
extremity. He allowed to the Homeric poems a duration in thuir 
present Rhiipo of at Icaet a century longer ; from the time, namaly, 
of PisistratUH. Jlr. Paley, however, considers the poems to haw 
been iji a ninlhiscous condition down to the period wheu the 
Athenian drama had ahcady reached its culmination.* Linguisti- 
cally he has a considerable amount of evidence to show, and 
great concL-ssionB miglit be made as to the state of the text uudor 
such changes as the lose of the Digamma and other metaraorphic 
influences during the process of adaptation to the new alphabet 
of B.C. 4t'3. As for the bone and sinew of the pnems con^dered 
as an organic structure, a higher antiquity, iji respect not only of 
the subject matter, but of the form, must be assigned than 
Mr, Paley lias allowed-t 

After tlius indicating in outline the leading pliases of opinion 
on this question, tlie writer proceeds to state tlie conclusion tu 
which long and careful study of the subject has brought him us i 
to the authorship and mutual relation of the Homeric poems. It I 
is one tliat appears to him to tlirow an important light on their 
structure, and to supply a hope of co-ordinatiug the various phe- 
nomena, explaining the most fomiidable discrepancies, which the 
Wolfian doctiiuc undoubtedly does, and explaining unity as welli 
which the AVolfiau doctrine fails to do. It is. in brief, that Homer I 
was the autlior of the " Odyssey," but that he was not in the same 
Gcnse the author of the " Iliad ;" that he found a preWously existing 

* Trt, in s]>itD of tha RCtidoiits ol t[mi>, nnd nftor puBning through Uia cniClMa a( ' 
Atlisniiin Dilltiu)! nBd AleiaDdritn rocensioD, is tfa?r» naj tuxt of ui Mrly biJbut {Wflt 
thit ia in n iitjttar state thau Homer's? After tliroe tbouxaad yeitra it atitnili, in tli* 
hirId, na iluar nnd 6nTi m the other sftuT ns uiHiiy hnndreds. It li lingnlal', but It ti I 
tme, thtLt tbo tuxt at EaHFudon, and jierhMpn o( tioplioclei. is in a better state tfanii 
Shakapeoro's nt this hoar. When thoTripoaca o( tho future turn itpoD thebsDod poftr^r 
of England inatcitcl of Homer, nnd SbBltepsarB ioBtoad tA Euripides, we cnn (unoj •omo 
future Mr. Lowe roiiiog tbo wail o[ noe over the sea. of Tarsious of " Oil MurJHi " ami 
" ChcTj Cbaao," and tlie heaps of " shot rubbiab " culling itself Sbaksperiiiii critifimn, 

t Xhe famoni eipreation of JBacbfloii, •» to his drains bolDg " tra^innts " (n>iij[«), 
IroiD tho grrat bantiaot of Homer, would Iom mucb of its stifuiQuaniio if Eomsr «en 
coneldcred tolio in bis time In the oobalous con^Iition supposnd. Also. Ih" '■ loar ftrnpo" 
stjle tn trhicb Pericles, in his ([rest omtioa (Tbuo. ii, 41), profoBdM to deiplM and ' 
diapenee with hdj relleot«U glories froBi Homer, nboirs eonelUBively that tho pooins 
wore long ero then a rounded " orb of song," beyond tho power of anj- one to tainpfC 
with u to Iheir inlegritj. The Athenians of tho bistorie tiuio (alt natu at thn )>o«i^ 
figure wblrh they made ia tho Homeric poems, and if tho ofBee purfonuw! \i\ SoIob aa<l : 
Piristrntna in the work of setting right tiio poem* had Iven tha arpliiteotonio on<!>J 
■nppoBHiI by Wolf, tho Albeniia rhatoricisDB and sophists would have tuml" iiiTic'n rai^r^''' 
at that aorrica tiian tliey hoTO doDo; for tbo probability is, wo aliout l 
period of thi> Deoadonce at aH events, han beard the nod of it. A.: 
had been aliil under prosesa of CTolution. such u Mr. Pnloj'a theory - 
'* is dii&cult to mderataDd how the profeasiou of the Rhapsode hni 

' ia the Socntic times (of. Sen. Mem. it. 2. 10) il n certain ■ 

Itensive iliscretionary powen, bad so lately appertained tahl 



leid " wliich he has expanded, enlarged, and partly worked 
over, 80 that it has been transformed into an " Iliad." 

In proceeding to state tlio grounds on which thia concliiBion 
retite, I start from the following prehminary propositions, which 
may be taken as scientifically proved, inasmuch as the eridence in 
Bopport of them is, both in amount and kind, completely satisfac- 
tory. They are — 
1. The unity and homogeueone structure of the Odyssey.* 
!. The complexity and heterogeneous structure of the "Iliad." 

3. The anterioritj- of the "Hiad" to the "Odyssey" in execution, 

4. The European origin of the myUiolo^}! on which the poems 

3. The ^Watio origin of the poeim, at the most distant period 
wbeu Wf can detect historically their existence. 

A glance at the leading points in connection ^vitli these positions 
will Bbow the evidence on which tliey rest. Taking them in 
the reverse order, we hold it to be satisfactorily established that the 
fcst appearance of the poems must be assigned to the eastern 
f^ore of the Egean, either to the islands or to the mainland on the 
Asiatio shore. Without laying any weight on tlie traditional 
traces of the poet's pergonalin, it is yet remarkably significant that 
they connect tliomselves entirely with -Eolis and Ionia j that 
Pindar and Simonides, ^vho are among our oldest and best testi- 
raooies, associate the poet with tlmt region ; and that Lycurgus 
*«9 believed, according to Plutarch, to have brought from the same 
inarttr to European Greece the poems of Homer. Further, when 
»etake into account (1) the close fihation uf the elegiac poetry 
(wWch is of Ionian growth) to the epic poetry of Homer ; (2) the 
tiBlorical fact of a Set of men called "Homerids" having existed 
W Chios, who, on grounds more or less valid, claimed actual de- 
Kait. or, according to othera. genuine poetical succession from a 
pwtof the name of Homer; and especially (3) the internal evi- 
dence famished by the dialect — Ionic with a mixture of vEolian 
fonns— vre find tlie conclusion iiTcsistible that it was among the 
Uttllds or aliores of Ionia or the borderland of iEoUs that the 
Homeric poems took permanent sliape and form. With regard to 
'm" Odyssey" in particular, it is only among the maritiiue commu- 
■TOMof the Ionian and yEoUan coast that we can discover, during 
»e early days of the Greek people, those social conditions of life 
ii the ayopa and life ou the ocean wave, which were necessary to 
■orni the nidus for a romance dealing so largely with maritime 
The objections to tliia view are not many nor are they weighty. 

ThlidoM not exol uJa tho pouibilitjr of i 
'°*n>d in It, nuib u U» doubttiJ portioai of I 
"iW]n«nl W tba Mvinonint, Tiz., Booit hit, 


?crotiona huTinR bopnuio attMliPd to or 
la Nokyia, in Biok xl. Had the sfMr-part 
nd a pnrt of Boiik xxiii. 


They consist chiefly in the apparently special familiarity which the 
author of the " Odyasey " shows with the Peloponnesus — not greater 
cei-tainly than the author of the second "Iliad ;" iQ the uiterfest 
which he shows in Spai'ta* and the mouutaitiH of the PclopotmefiUB 
( 103); andin the cireumstance that thesunisTQade toriscin 
tlie sea (0(I.iii. 1). wliich is certainly favourable to an insular origin, 
though not noueesarily tu a Peloponnesiau. These and otht-r «r- 
giunents used by Tliiersch in lae work on " The Age and Fathci^ 
laiid of HouMi-r," and apparently accepted as conclnBtvo by 
Gladstone, have been efifoctually disposed of by lliirlwall 
i. p. 276) with thiB remark, that — 

•' Tliia is not a case wlipre we have to balance two ftrguments 
similar kintt against one anotlier, but where we liave on tht- one sioe a 
loaas of poaitive teatimony s on the other some factB which, tlirough our 
ver^ impei'fect knowledge of the poet's life and times, we are unable to 
accouut for. Where this is so, there can be little doubt which way the 
principles of souud critidsin require us to decide." 

But here "wg are met by the undoubted fact that, while tlie 
Horaerio poems took shape and fonn on the Asiatic coast of the 
EgeaM, the inmnalmla of Greek uiTthology was not Asiatic but 
European, The localization of the' legends as to the godfi and 
hei-Oes is entirely European, and thtre is evidence to show that 
the author or authoj-s of the Homeric poems " sen'cd thomselvea 
heirs" to the traditions, and availed themselves of the huag^native 
creations, of poets who had appeared previously on European soil. 
The position of Oljitipus as the recognized abode of the gods, even 
when their activities are described as concentiated around thu 
plain of Troy, proves convincingly that the Htimcric poetry htKl 
ita roots in Europe ; for there can be no question that the OlympuB 
of the Homeric poems, wherever it can be identified as a mmattaia, 
is the mountain of that name In the land of TlicHsaly. So mncb 
is this the case, that even Trojans or Asiatics are reprusented «e 
shariugthe beUcf in Olympus as the seat of the gods ; andChryeea, 
the priest of Apollo, in the first "Iliad," and Hector in the twenty- 
second, are represented as conforming to the Greek tradition. To 
prove this point at length, and to show that the Olympus of the 
" Iliad" is the European mountoui. and not any Asiatic mountain — 
not even the "Olympus high and hoar" which Byron speaks of a* a 
noble object from Cunetautinople and the Golden Honi — would, 
however, lead us far beyond our present limits, niid fo Homeric 
scholars is entirely superfluous. Further, any indications of prior 
poets fomid in the Homeric poems connect themselves with £hlf6- 
pean locahties, and all tlie traces of the aoiSo! (leaving out of view 

* Bergk, Id hit " Hintorf o[ GnA Litarature," occouuU tor aomo o( diOM l«*laM|^^H 

(uppminK the ■' Odysucy " to tiave andergooe retonchiag for > Spuinii andiaaMi. -a^^^^f 



the Base of Demodocus as depending on the doubtful locnlization 
nf PhiMcia) belong to the western side of the Egean. Phcniiue m 
[fliaca. niflo the unnamed niinetiel who had tlic gimrdiaiislup of 
Oytnnuestrn, and TLamyris* are clear iostaucee to this cfTect. Tho 
last, in fact is conclueive, inasmuch as the notice coiiceiiiiiijj him 
"Wtmstrt be decidedly realistic, and to cmbodya imclgiis of actual 
personal history of a pathetic kind. Moreover, his loeah is not oidy 
finwiiesn, but Thessalian, the (Erhaliu with wluch his iianie is 
ii«miatcd being certainly in Theaaaly. 'llie couclusioh to which 
weiVe cttuducted by these facts is eonfirmfd by the follL»^^■ing 
i;on«de!Utionfl derived from the poems theinst'Ives. These assume 
8 pruviotis aciiuaiiitunce vAt\\ the heroes tht-y porti'ay. The 
"praing line of the "Iliad," for exnmjilc, implies tliat Peleus was a 
faiaiUftr hero ; Patrocliisis first, ititvuduced to us by his patronymic; 
lUid AcHlles is deBcribed by a, 8eri(.'8 of epithets «-Iuch must have 
Wii tratUtionaL being no lunger iiitelhgiblc from exiatiiig lays. 
Tlic variouB epithets designating him as thui " smft-footed " pre- 
SDpfioBc a substratum of Tliessnhnn tracbtiou and poetic lore re- 
gnrfing the Thessalian hero, and probably refer to some eavly 
Plfrian lay as to the yonlhfiil feats of the horo under the training 
of Chiron among the livilds of PeBon. It may therefore be assimied 
»» scientifically certain, that wliile the poems had their rise on the 
Aoreof Asia Minor, they had &cir raots in the mythologj- and 
poflticlore of ThcBsaly. 

Thft third proposition, as to the anteriority of the "Iliad " in point 
('f execution, ib all but self-evident. Tho poi-tion of the "Iliad" 
whicb bss excited most suspicion as of more recent origin than 
the rttt is the "Doloneia " or tenth boot, but there is reason to 
b<divT« tbat even it was executed liofire tlie gi'eater part, of the 
"Odysleey.*' The investigations of Diintzer ("Abhandlungen," pp. 
■465—470) have served to render this highly probable. Moreover, 
certaJiiformulR! common to the" Iliiul" and tliu''Odyspey" have been 
ihoTViabybim to have been shaped primarily for the "Iliad," before 
tjn'y ^oro adapted to the "Odyssey." Thus,the precept to Penelope 
in Book i. 35l)-9 and in Book xxi. 344 is couched in the same 
Htmsafi the precept to Andromache in "Iliad," Book vi.,4yo, but 
the txprfeaiiin tU iHmiv iovaa. is most appropriate in the latter, 
jViidrtmiachG being then on the pubhc way. This serves to mark 
the potieugu in the "Iliad" as the original location. 

fic^rding tba remaining two prupoBitious, it may bo neccBeary 
io eoter more into detail. And fii-et, iti regard to the youngei' 

• T '"" : 1^ U couDectsd willj 01^ by Welekor. If ao, h* ■pro»BDM ui 

mu] . ' , ,11 iluriTed (roni dfwu, nnd \a &l onco Bublimod, in tbo crem>- 

tioi - i ", into »u apjicllaliviim or lyutM indiciitiTe of ntigregatiuu. 

Jti- '-'ti'. tfaut lu Uw Lileof Homer attributed tg Heiodotos, in 

■^ui'S . h mlitioos are piasfTved, Tbrswlx U innde tha cradle of his 

■nrjiITT : lor MoUnuv"', "' Mngneeiii. in TlieESily, is the ecti.iii^t uf Cume, fTOm «b'im 
HABor «u traiUtiomJlv •prunK. 

B 2 



poem : that the "Odyesey" is in its structure oue and iiidiviaiWe? 
that it is fairly utiiform in tone, with remarkable continuity of 
subject and Bustained consistency of conception; that it haa corat- 
from the mind of its author "moulded at one projection,"' are fact« 
that only extreme scepticism can deny. Even Wolf admitted 
tliat the framework of the •' Odyssey ," with its elaborate adjustment 
of parts and exquisite preparation for the d^nmiemenl, was moat 
skilful, and he speaks in high praise of the architectonic skill which 
it displays,.ae " the most splendid monument of Greek gemue."t 
This perfection of structure he endeavours to turn into an argu- 
ment in his favour, by representing it as an artificial unity super- 
induced in cultivated times, such as those of Pisistratue. The 
fact remains, that, if the "Odyssey" had come down tons alone, the 
question of unity could not have aiisen, and the Wolfian theorj' 
would have had no room for existence^ The marvellous mar- 
fihalliug of gathered circumstance to bring round the great result 
— the hero's restoration to home and kingdom ; the skilful arrange- 
ment by which the double stream of action, carried on by father 
jind by son, converges to the point of junction, when they meet 
at the hut of Eumceus ; the absurdity of supposmg that any largu 
part of it (such as the books where Telemachus is the main 
character) had any uidependent existence '«xcept as a part, it 
might even be, an after-part, of a great whole, Telemachus being 
only a, nehm-penon, not a central figure, and always implying 
either the expectation of the presence or the actual presence of a 
greater — all unite to render the "Odyssey" impregnable against 
disruptive assaults, as they conspire to render it the roost perfect 
and finished stni^- ever told in verse through all the ages of tlie 

But is there no per contra 1 IsthG"0dy88ey"suchaperfectchrj-- 
-solite that no flaw can be foimd in its stnicture and proportions ( 
None tliat will avail to affect materially the evidences of unity. 
"The chronological difficulty, as to how the reckoning of day-s hi 
the case of the one hero can be made to square with the reckoning 
in the case of the other, is, at first sight, startUng (twenty-eight 
-days unaccounted for. according to Colonel Mure, in the caaq ,< 
Telemachus), but it disappears, or at least diminishes gree 
second conradei-ations. It does appear that, through overedjij 
more probably because of the infancy of arithmetical c&lcal 

* Tho kboTo iiMr.Grote'* exprmaion ruKuntiag Ibe "OJjhm;." A^»x'*'"i^ 
rikai in the gnnoe, cipnssea. uot unhappily, tlno idna. '' 

f "OJjsfloa? admiraniJia eumma et couipagQ< pro pro^alariMuno tno' 

Qmoi bftbetida oat." AVdlf, Prolog, p. eiviii.) Id like DinnaDr, Mr. Grota, in hla ii^lmfHf 
ou tho Grosk Drama, declurea Uid "Odjwey" lo ba equal lo th« uobI ojmtiielnEat of 
tlia piling of Sophocles in nrcbitectonio skill. 

; Uroto, Hist. ji. p. 321. "If it had hepwnod tlul the 'Odjwsf 'liwl bwu ir 
to m aloQB, without tho ' Diad,' I thiok the dispata rBgpMiing Homerio s 
iipTor hBTB been raiisd." 



[apomt on which several ilhietrationB* might be given), the poet 

has allowed adisovepancj to creep in, which uino-teuths even of his 

present readers iiuver perceive, and probably none of his auditors 

in bifl own tame ever observed. In point of fact, it is no piiradox 

to Bay that the oversight referred to is, in some reapects, a proof 

of the genuineness and antiquity of the "Odvesey," as belonging to 

a tiino when the lynx eye of science had not begun to suggest 

awkward ijueetions as to numbers, as it certainly would have done 

if th« poems had received Bhapc in the colder and more critical 

times of Pericles, when the sophists were abroad, or even in the 

timvs of Pisistratus, when prose literature was begiiming to 

appear. The dicuieiLoatce, or n'dact-euro, employed by the latter, 

if their functions had extended to the formation of an organic 

unity, would have been certain to make the numbers right, but 

they woidd have made much else wrong, for we should have 

looked in vain for the dehghtftil simplicity and fresh redolence of 

nktore breathing from every part of this pre-eminently 

" Sp«ciou locia momtuqiiB recta fabula." 

If we turn to the "Diad," do we find the same unity disceniible ! 

NotinthesameseiiBeaBtbcimity of the ■■Odyssey." The repeated 

iuTocatiuna of the muse at different stages suggest, if they do not 

imp^, complex origin. Of these there are at least six of a more 

Mrleesformal tdnd; the "Odi/ssey" hwwt btU one. We also fiudlarge 

lantoB of the poem easily separable, without lea^-ing a gap in the 

plw, and not provided for, to all appearance, in the proem of the 

(Kiem, Instead of organic unity as in the "Odyssey ," we meet in the 

"Iliad" with juxtaposition, The extensive section, from Boot ii. 

t*' the end of Book \'ii., seems to bo not so much a continuation 

M ui engraiting on the primary stem. The Greeks seem to be 

iwwiie depressed for want of Achilles, and the Trojans, by 

Aotenor'e confession (in vii. 350), are inclined to yield. Moieuver, 

Cm of the tJreek heroes is represented as so far supplying the 

"beaicc of Achilles that he performs feats such as Achilles himself 

(Winot boast of performing in the climax of his glory. A special 

•application to the gods is decreed by tiie Trojan leaders to ward 

offtlie tremendousDiomed, "who has put themiu greater terror even 

ttaii Achilles " (11, vi. IVJ), and Hector expresses doubts whether he 

•infl ever again see his home (vi, 307), since the CJreeka press him 

*"re, it is. to say the least, strange that one who is not thi? thief hero 

"houtd be thus surrounded with such splendour before the time ; and 

ihoDgh some explanations have been given — such as the retarda- 

'Wnthtiiry of Nitzech, that the action is prolonged and the real 

be sbstrMt ii luniliar oiil.v in (ha 
Jch wo toDudnr to ba of tho wmo 
limileii to tlio "OdyBJ'ij" ttod to 



business of tte epic delayed, until tlie patrintism of the poet a 
Dieted out measures of glory to the vaiions Greek chiefs btsJJi* 
Achilles, or the ^^e^v that it was contrived to vary the eptBodes oi 
the war and to complete the full gallery of war pictures — yvi S 
is none that fully meets the difficulty how, if it was all the "i 
of oiiR poet, tho measure of glory shoTild have been heapcil 
high for Diomed in the fifth book that he is tlie vauijni ' 
gods, whereas the crowning exploit of Achilles in the crisis o 
poem is that lie was the vantjuisher of a man. The sort of I 
climax thus produced is at least explained, though it ia not jtu 
by the supposition that tho books referred to wei-e of after-origiii. 
that they are pervaded by a special feeUng towai'd Ulysses, and 
that the glorj* given to Diumed arose from the desire of the j 
which he liae somewhat largely indulged, to magnify the i 
panion-in-arms of LMysses, 

It is not necessaiy to enlarge fmlher on t]i« proofs, which 1 
been well handled by Grote, showing that the original ground- 
plan of the "IKad" has been in some form interfered with and 
enlarged, either by the original poet himself or by another poet — 
proois that embrace the case of tho ninth and tenth books, which 
are also extrinsic to the main action. The latter or "Doloneia," 
though osprcflsly said by the ancient critics to bo compueed ••by 
Homer," was yet confidently pronounced to have been a separate 
composition and an after-addition (see Venetian Scholia, Book 
XI); and the former book, or the " Embassy," is saved by Oilonel 
Mure, chiefly by the excision of three linos of a subsequent book 
{xvi. 84 — 8(1), which be admita to be inconsistent with the trans- 
actjons of Book ix.. and he therefore summarily pronouneee them 
an interpolation. The embassy of the (^efs and the liil>oiired 
supplication to the hero to return, form a most impressive scene, 
but it is somewhat Btraiigetliat the action and epeech of Aehilles for 
ten books after it imply that no offer of satisfaction has been made. 

The case regarding Books xxiii. and xsiv. is of another kind. 
They form a most natural sequel, and can hardly be said to 
disturb the original ground-plan, as prest-nted in the Exordium, 
though they develop and expand it. They, nevertheless, he out- 
side the plan of the Exordium, and they differ in many important 
respects in tone and language from the books immediately pro- 
ceding them, and their special vocabularj- will be found to haw 
•nuch in common witli that of the Books ii. — vii., ix.. x.. ibftt is to 
tVLy, with the books whose structure appears not to belong to the 
primary nucleus of tlie poem. 

On the whole, therefore, it ajipears Ihat we may aesmnp the twf« 
propositions formerly laid down, tliat the two poems stand to 
each other in a distinct contrast as to unitj- of plan. Long be- 
fore Wolf appeared, a dim sense of this fact had begun to show 

VutdS in the eetimntcs oS tiie " Hiad" given by leas Ij-nx-eyed 
critics. Blair, in liia LfctiircH on Hhetorio, gave oxprc-ssiou, in a 
mOd, vagiio way, tu tJiu peculiarity, it' not deficiency, of tlie ■■ Iliad," 
in respect of unity. Accordingly Colonel Mure, notM-itlistanding 
tho bmvciy of his dt'funcp, is constrained to admit that tiie " Iliad" 
n nnlike other epics, iuaBmuch as there is no great event u-ilJiiu 
the poem towards wliich the whole progression moves.* The fall 
of Troy would no doubt fomi a catastrophe vvoithy of being the 
cabjcct <j1' an epic poem, hut it is an event that lies outside and 
beyond the range of the horizon, hovrever near it may be felt to 
lie, when Hector, the hulwtirk of the city, falls. Hence he has to 
dense a fcpecial theory for the " Iliad," which we give as follow? 
in hie own words : — 

" In tlie • Odyaeey' the restoraliitu of Ulysses to his home and royal 
Mitbonty. in the ■ jineid" the establishment of the Trojan doniiuioii in 
Ldtium, in the 'Jerusalem' the rwonquest of the Holy Sejwlchi'e, in tho 
•PBmiliwLost' the fall of otir first parents, offer each a distinct hlatoriral 
object on which the action "is from the first steadily advancing, by how- 
ever tortuous a oourae. In the 'Iliad' no such object can be discovered. 
Althou^li the limits of the action are as clearly marked out as in any of 
Ihe above <^ases, yet its pi-ogress caunot be said to have in view, nor does 
ite conclusion invoh-e any distinct historical consummation. The fall of 
Troj', the f.Tand catastrophe of the whole train of events celebrated in tlio 
poem, is fxtriUK'oua ta its own narrative. As Httle does the reconciliation 
ii thf chiefs, or tW death of Hector, form its definitive scope. The selection, 
ttiHvfore, Lif (his particnlar series of events was owiny obviously to its 
muni ratht-r tlian its historical importance; to the opportunities it afforded 
(« portraying: tlie great qualities of one extraordinary character, with the 
Offlooption of wiiich the poet's mJnd was teeming. The genius of the 
'IW,' consequently, is superior to that by which those other heroic 
poetiui art) animated, in so far as the mind of man, in all the depth and 
vdriety of it« passrous and affections, is a more interesting object of 
•todv ihnji tlie vicissitudes of human destiny or woridly adventure." — Mart, 
A«/6V. /..(., L p. 293. 

In order to obtain a eatisfactoiy theory of the " Iliad," we have, 

fhewfore, a strategic muvcment backward towards high ethical 

ground, or rather the question has been carried up into tlie 

icgioii of the iuvieiblo; and so (as with Hecatseus, Hei-od. ii. 23), 

tiien'can be no clenchus — no posabihty of either proof or disproof. 

dionel Mur& ha«, however, -virtuBlly left the "Iliad" without an 

atUiinak' <lAtoue>netit, and we are now prepared to understand, when 

itisthusdisbnned, how all manner of paradoxical tlieories as totlip 

puipOK of the "Iliad" could be put forth with a show of 

probabihty, eucli as that of Schubartli's (" Idecn iiher Homer," 

Breslan. 1821), that it is not Achillefi but Hector that is the hero 

(jtiat OS some have thought that Satau, and not Adam, was the 

hero of "Paradise Lost"), and, as a corollary, that Homer was a 

* Jau Pwil uxpremr,!! ■ wiali for a twcntj-fillh cuito of tho "Qivl," as Ut >t least ne 
W Uie ilralh <ii AvbiUoB. A simiEar fAelisg haa producsd a thirteenth .S^cid, and Goethe 
Cbotif^t Ihcrc naa room luiil lualeilal (or another epio belore the death ol AohUlsa ; and 
hooM Ilk Torso ol tbo " Acbilleis." 


conrt poet at the court of the descendants of ^neas, and was 
consequently a Trojan I 

It is worthy of remark that Aristotle, in his "Poetics," chap. 
viii., when dealing with tliis point of unity, although he menlione 
the " Iliad," as a mattor of form, in the background of lus survey, 
yet draws his actual illustrations from the " Odyssey." This he 
evidently considered the model epic, inaemu^-h as it was concen- 
trated around a single poraon, and moved onward with full sweep 
of complicated and gathered circumstance to a single great and 
imposing action. In like manner the fine instinct of Horace, 
not less true than the sagacious intellect of Aristotle, when he is 
bestowing on Homer tlie encomium of Qui nil molitur inepU, seeks 
its illustration not from the "Iliad" but from the "Odyseey." 
The compactness and synimetiy of the " Odyssey" are, in fact, 
indicated in the tith of the poem, no matter whether we 
tliat title as old as the poem itself, or to be of no earlier origin 
than the days of Herodotus, in whoso chapters, like the sister namo 
of " Iliad" also, it first emerges into view. It marks at all events 
the conscious feeling, in the minds of the Greek race, that hero 
there was a poem with a single hero, according to its openijig line — 

" Sing to nia, Muhh, tho Man ;" 

and that with no appendage of "arms" or any other fulcrum or 
pedestal whatsoever. What is more notable is the circumstance 
that he is not named in his own Exordium, as if he were '• the 
man" pre-eminent, not needing to be named. 

On the other hand the "Iliad," as we have it, cousists of a. 
seiies of pictures fioni a certain limited period of the war of Hium, 
and the unity which it posseeseB is rather like (hat of a rich and 
brilliant historical play of Shakspeare, ■^vith many centres of 
interest, a Cajaar, a Bnitus, and an Antony, or a Henry, a Hotspur, 
aGlendowor,a8coutrastedwith the unity of his "Hamlet" or "King 
Lear," where there is but one protagonist. 

The name 'lAiu^ is, in fact, an indefinite appellation (as it iti 
in form simply a colkeiiff, nuim) for what was felt to be a leas well- 
defined aggregate, and hence the poem in honour of Achilles haa 
to share its lofty honours with the eycho poem of Lcschcs, which 
told of the end and fall of Ihum, and was known as the " Little 
Iliad." EustathiuB," it is true, in tlie opening sentence of liia 
elephantiue commentary, speaks of the "Iliad" in different terms, 

• His pTBdecpBdorB, Iha ancient erilicB, hud a raoni just pornBption o( UiB «UIb o( tlw 
GUM, for vcfitLd iotbe Venetiun Stholia (I!. A, 1. 1) that it was a question ritixst! and dit- 
anased in the boIiodIr. thj it was Ihat, if the odd poem iraii called an Odyratiit. the otlicr 
VBBOot calUd ID Arthilltia. The answer comnionly giTcn was one llBtterin); (o thoGrwk 
TAHn, that Qrcccn HOB bo rii^li in biMvos wiUi Bplcndid individuolitr, Hint no sini;lB onn 
conld bo lUawod le Rtl the eujvBS. lod AohiUee nan onty primtit iVrr para. It wonlit 
tlnia apjwu- as il tba great yrat poom wore promonitory ol tlio foriuiea of Iho QmdL raa* 
itself, ■whoro each branch wag to haTo ila turn of aiccndoner, but no cndnrinit pri- 


B ihvou^hoiit a irwfia tiapfxarrov, " a well-organized body," wliich is 
tnie, bnt (nilr reiatively, and is not tnie when compared with the 
"OdyBBey." AVifliout going ao far a« to accept Mr, Paley'a com- 
ptirieon ("Iliad," vol. ii, p. xxiv.), tliat the "Diad" prodnceB the 
inipressioii Lif a stained glass window that ha« had a long history, 
filled lip with materials of different ageB. some old, some new, and 
ail dovetailed iut^i a kind of unity of design, we are compelled to 
pronounce tlie -'Iliad" a fomiation,inre8pectofunity, of a different 
kind from the faster poem, 

Krom tlie above considerations it will not seem a startling or 
absurd proposition, that it is worth inquiiing regarding those 
cantos of the " Iliad " that are less fiiinly attached to the original 
fnuaework of the " Wrath of AchiUee." whether any link of connec- 
tion can be discerned, attaching them to each other. We have 
tKeref()re singled out those books which bear this extrinsic 
character, and which, by their Greek designations (henceforth used 
for convenience), are the following : — 

BraEZH IK *o. 

Otherwise, Books ii, iii. iv, v. \'i. vii. is. x, xxiii, xxiv, 

Tlie result of our investigation is to show that there is a large 
UDomit of evidence, of considerable force and variety, to prove 
ftat there is a close connection subsisting between these books ; 
ud farther, that tliey are also nearly related to the " Odysaey,"' 
«id belong to the same age — ^in all probability, to the same 

Of tlie remaining fourteen books, which contain the original 
ancluus of the '■ Achilleid," certain episodes seem, by the Uuguistic 
M well as other evidence, to belong to tiie same source. In 
[trtiuular may be mentioned, as probable instances, the scene in 
"Olympus," at the end of the first book, where Zeus and Hero 
We their aittTcation appealed bythemirth-maldng of Hephsestns; 
the long discourse of Nestor in the eleventh book ; and tlie 
ejiiaode of the " Shield," the scenes of which enggest, in language 
luid tone, the stiller life and artistio calm of the " Odyssey." 

The books of the '■ Iliad " enumerated above are those which 
ll*Te always attnu'isd attention — we may say, excited fruspicion — 
uiiftTing httle direct adliorence organically to the main structure. 
Hsf are, in fact, the quarry from wliich the weapons of the 
Wol£atis have been mainly drawn ; in them the hlante» eom- 
auntnv and the junctumi parum callidfr- are chiefly to be found. 
The reason we believe to be that the author of tlie " Odyeeey " 
luui cngrbftod on the primary stock of an " Achilleid " splendid 
mid vigorous sapliugs of his own ; but tlie junction is not abso- 
hitely complete : tlie sutures are still visible. 

In indicating the lines on which the proof of such n proposition 


mufit move, we first appeal to certain broad characteristics of the 
** Odyssey/' and these we venture to say are predicable in mnch 
the same measure and degree of the books of the " Hiad" referred 
to, and of no other hooks in the " Iliad /' and these we shall therefore 
speak of, provisionally, for the sake of brevity, as the Ulyssean 
portion of " Iliad." These characteristics are — 

1. A largo outlook to and acquaintance with the outside 

world, and a considerable famiKarity with the shores of the 
Eastern MediteiTanean, including Egypt and Phoenicia. 

2. Pathos and humour in large measure — the humour in the 

case of the gods falling occasionally into the burlesque. 

3. High appreciation of conjugal honour and affection. 

4. Lofty estimate of intelligence, and of Ulysses as ita highest 


I. The author of the "Odyssey" has obtained a tolerably 
accurate and extensive knowledge of the Eastern Mediterranean. 
Within the Greek domam he knows of Delphi and Delos, as well 
as the older oracle of the Greek race, Dodona. The two former 
are, as it were, only emerging above the hoiizon, for Delos is 
named only once, and Delplii still bears- its primitive name of 
" Pytho." The Dorians are named as an element in the popu- 
lation in connection with Crete. Outside the Greek domain he 
knows of the Solymi, who must be placed near Lycia, in the 
south of the Asiatic foreland ;* he makes famiUar mention of 
Phoenicia and Egypt. The mother city of the former, Sidon, 
the then capital of the latter, Thebes, are both well known. The 
products of the one country, in textile and metallic fabrics, pass 
current, and the " Zeus-descended river " of the other, with " its 
very fair fields" (Od. xiv. 263), is spoken of in a way that 
implies some knowledge, more or less direct, of the peculiar 
agriculture of ancient Egyptian civilization. The Pharos-island 
is vaguely spoken of, with mucli the same measure of accuracy 
as an ordinary British ship-captain might use in describing, on the 
impression of a single visit, the entrance to Nagasaki or TahitL 
A man of the name of " the Egyptian " (klyvirrvoi) is a speaker in 
the agora at Ithaca (Od. ii. 15). Further, the author of the 
"Odyssey" has some knowledge of the west and south ; he tells us 
of the Sikeh in the west, and, although Niebuhr would find a place 
for them in Epims, the most natural interpretation is that they 
belong to Italy or Sicily. 

He knows also of Libya, which he twice names, and has heard of 

* It is gcnorallj assumod by Thiersch and othor modem chorizontes, that the Author of 
the ** OdysBoy ** is not so well acquainted with Asia Minor as the anthor of the ^* niad." 
The loeah of tho action in the one poem being Aaintic, while that of the other is mminly 
Enropean, is a fact sufficient to account for any difiference in this reapeot, but the fii^ger 
of the third »» Odyssey" (see lines 169—172) is not behind the author of the *< Iliad * la 
familiarity with the Asiatic coast. 



^^QtecioTui couiitiy, which must be placed in it* ut-iglboinhood, 
wtx-re lift' is unJer easy conditions, and men can live on "flowerj' 
food " in the land of the Lotus-eatfirs. Finally, along mth his 
knowledge of these outer lands, he has acquirod a vague fiunse of 
the variety of tlie human race, of the oomplexity of liumau speech, 
otid a disposition to criticizt; or estimate its quaht^-, aocordiiig as 
h vraa pleasing or otherwise. 

Predsely the same extent and kind of knowledge may be 
predicated of the author or authors of those books of the '■ Ihad " 
wIugI) we have, on other grounds, set apart for examination. 
The mental horizon on every side is at every point (with the 
exception of the Sicilian area, which lies outside the scope of the 
"Hiaid") in both cases eonceutric, and meaeorea the same circum- 
r«rei)ce. l>elplai appears only under its ancient nani^ of " Roc^ 
Pytho," and it ie in Booka B and l where it is found, just as often 
MS it is mentioned in the " Odyssey." Delos happens nut to be men- 
tioned ill the "Iliad," and a certain priority may be given to tlio 
** Iliad" on thisgroimd; but the interval is not eapablu of measure- 
DMDt in the face of other considerations. Though the Dorians are 
not named, the name "Dorium " (in B 594) seems ,to indicate tliat 
di^ had begun to make their mark in Greece; and. if the "Doriaii 
braptioo " was known to him, he maintains an ubstiiiate silence 
ngarding it, just as does the singer of the " Odyssey," and as we 
^old expect an Ionian singer would, who would probably 
ignore a chapter in the history of hjs race for which ho liad no 
^V9Ut.* Ab to the circumference, point after point revolves and 
comes into view in exactly the same way. The Solynii appear 
in Z. Libya, though not named, ia implied in r, where the cranes 
are described as winging their way fi-om the showery lands to the 
"luid of the Pygmies," which recent researches tend to show can 
Iv- no other than the heart of Africa.f As for Phceuicia and 
Egypt, the former is familiar from the products of Sidonian skill 
ui forge and loom, the evidence appealing in the Ulyssean books 
Z aud ♦ ; and Uie latter is known (ui Book I, also Ulysseau), as 
poosesBiug the most splendid and brilliant civilization, and stores 
of kccomulated wealth in its then capital of Thebes. 

At tills point it is interesting to note, what has been recently 
remarked on by high authority in this Remew, that the references 

* Stuikipciirc'e nlunco db to the Xormon ConquBBl, an Mr. Olndgtooa bua romarkad, ia 
la MOID n»p*cU jiwnlleL A ourBory roador of bia plsye would hardly imaglno Out 
ffnuicc. or rsthor a proYJaoB ol France, had oace coQi(iierod Englimcl, — Tho sapposBd 
alladoo tn tliu llsniclide nomjiwst io the nioulh of Horf, iu A 58. is too vcgno to foand 
apoa.iuid it is rathsr ODDtnuliDted by the Impieuioit coOTeygd by tlw "Speptre" pMUge 
of B. Mpvcially wheD the Scaptre ol Pelops i* clnowbero Bpokoo of (B 1A€) aa "jm- 
tMrMiibh rm,'' which ia an awkward complimont, if tho poet had fully ia his riew the 
HerMcUds or Dorian aBaBOiUney, which ohlileratod tho rule of tlia Polopid». 

t Tho latfl Italian travellor Minm is boliosod to have found a raeo of dwarfs in tho 
baut ttl Alcina, widoh goos far to yield an historical nnolons (or tho stary of the " enntl 
Infaiilry warrad an by eranos." 




to Egypt and Phcenicia are deteiminabla as IjHiig witliin a cpi 
chronological area, and mark a period which must be conni 
recent in the history of the one conntry, ancient on the sca!< 
the history of the otiier. The " Odyssey" and the cognate books of 
the "Iliad" maybe eaid to be locked chronologically into a period 
antecedent to the ascendency of Tyre in the one conntiy, and 
Bubeequent to that of Memphis in the other. Thebes ha« 
obliterated the earHer glory of Memphis ; but in Phoenicia, Sidou 
holds the precedence, as it does also in the books of the Pentateuch. 
The hegemony of Sidon, aecoiding to Movers (Phoen. Altertli. 
vol. ill. p. 21) extends from B.C. lOOO — 1100; and without asRuming 
that the Homeric poems can bear so high a date, inasinuch^rt 
poetical fame and tlie halo of antiquity might preserve the 
Sidonian in currency foi- a considerable period aubsequei 
HOO B.C. (.just as the name Median for Persian survived famil 
in Greece down to the days of Aristophanes, long after the tm<» 
relations between Medes and Persians had become knoT\Ti to the 
Greek people), yet the absence of all mention of the rival city 
Tyre is in favour of an early date to even the youngest of the 
Homeric poems. 

Along with the mention of Sidonians may bo coupled, as indicAl 
ing Oriental influence, that of Cadmemis and Cadmus. The 
feasible expUnation of the name Cadmus that has yet been 
is that which connects it with the Hebrew Kedem, " the East ^ 
which case Cadmus would be a Grecized form meaning simply thl^ 
" Easterling," or " man from the East." It is remarkable that these 
Cadmtang and Cadmus should bo found coming up solely in ft( 
" Odyssey " and in those books of the " Iliad " which wo coi 
Ulyssean (A 385, 7. 804, K 288, * 680). 

And here it naturally falls to be remarked that the only pi 
in either poem which can with any fairness be interpreted te 
indicate a knowledge of the art of \vritiiig, occurs in a section of 
the "Iliad" where the mention of Cadmmns and Stdonians is more 
than usually rife. In Book Z, where the Sidamans are moiitioiioef 
for their cunning works (Z 290), and which cannot be BOpamted 
in authorship fvoin Books A and E {where Cadmfcmii appear), 
occurs the much-debated passage concerning the "b.ilefiil sigTw" 
(tr^fiMTa Kvypit, 1. 168). described as a means of coinramiication be- 
tween persons at a distance. Whatwerethese "signs!" Ontheone 
liaiid, there is the silence elsewhere as to the art of writing, thniiigh- 
out both ■' Ihad" and " Odyssey ;" there is the sflonce alao of Hcuiod. 
but as the Boeotian poet represents a more primitive, though 
necessarily a more ancient, condition of things, than the aui ' 
the "Odyssey," who knows of more advanced applianci-e tliai 
within tho Itnowledge of th« Boeotian farmer, such us thi; inoji 
(Od. svii. 2Wl) of fields and the iise of the ml/1 for grinding 



^Oond of the mortar and pestle, the silence of Heaiod is lees 
Hgnificant and important than tiie reticence, if it is so, of the singer 
or suigers of the " Hiad " and " Odyssey." A\Tiat renders the 
Teticence titill more remarkable is the fact that there is no allusioii to 
Wfriting, or any cognate memorial, in circumstances that niightseem 
to call for it, such as in the erection of pillars or monuments to mark 
the resting-places of the dead. Further, the term afterwards em- 
ployed in the literary period of the tongue to denote the art of writ- 
ing (yp"^) is familiar in this aucieut time, but it belongs not to the 
Hnsebut toMar6,and8ignifiea,in the peaceful "Odyssey" (cf.x280), 
jroit as much as in the warlike " Uiad," to scratch or ffraze. This is 
oue of WolTs strongholds from which, in fact, he haa never been 
dislodged, and it was from t}iiB, as a sallying point, that he 
direoted his assaults against the fabric of the poems, which 
tfanvfore, he concluded, must have bten not only preserved for a 
long period without the aid of writing, bnt must have been also — 
a more fonrndablc lUfficulty — memorially composed. Of course, 
Vfeare not ptTDiitted to introduce any extraneous considerations, 
mcli afl the familiar ascription of the art of writing to the heroic 
sgesby the Attic tragedians, nor even, what haa better right to 
ooont as an argtunent, tlie apparently ancient cyclic story of the 
death uf Palamedea being eommmiicated to his friends by 
"Kcratchiiigs" on oars which were tossed overboard to drift ashore 
(»ce AjTstoph. Thesmoph. 770). The Wolfiane may fairly claim to 
Uvtthe question decided on the groimd of their own choosing — 
the Homeric poems alone — and, therefore, the view limits itself to 
tlie pasHagu of the "baleful signs." These "signs" purport to 
have bet-n " scratched on a folded tablet," and are afterwards to 
be oliown in order to "get the bearer killed." They are carried 
fwm a conotry on one aide of the Egean to a country on the 
"thftr; and after being exhibited in the new country to the person 
to vrhcim they were sent, they produce this effect, that thougli at 
firettlie bearer was welcomed and feasted, immediately on their ex- 
tibititm he is put in the way of " being killed." They were thus 
tntendi.-d as a moHsage oi' sentence of death ; and the conclusion 
*wiiw irroedatible that here was a communication made at a 
dintiiiice between two parties by what is tantamount to the art of 
witiiig. The more candid Wolfians give up the point, and say 
tile tipiaode to which it belongs is an interpolation of a later date. 
On Wolfian priuciplea, it ia difficult to iniderstand wliat is an 
"iuterpoiation." if the whole is a mere congeries; but it is unfortunate 
tiist thin eo-called interpolation should be one of the moat finished 
portiuas of the poem. Those Wolfians, however, who perceive 
Chat^ among dociunents of presumably equal antiquity, they are 
mA entitled, on their own principles, to presume upon interpola.- 
Hotia, explain it as some kind of picture-writing, like the Mexican, 



fir ae the exhiljirion of Bt)ine tind ':if te^scrtt honpitalU (one Iialf ot 
ati irrTpayaXnt or the like, accoi-diiig to the account of Scholiast in 
Eur. Med. B13), by wliich, as by a Rppciea of freeinaeoury. a friend 
oould be introduced and treated accoidingly. Neither of these 
suggested analogice will suit the coiiditions of the caee. What is 
wantedis a species of freemasou sign that will indicate, uut a friend, 
hut a foe : or rather that n-ill suddenly ctinvert one received at first 
as a friend into an object of aversion. Thei-o js uot only iufoniifttion 
to he conveyed, which is all that either of the abovo-sii^ested 
explanations will cover ; but thcru is a raoBsage to do thiB or that, 
wliich neither the picture writing nor the freemason or other con- " 
ventional sign is capable of conveying. The whole description 
of the affair is niysteriouB," precisely as we might expect the first 
mention of alphabetic writing to appear to ti.n unlettered people. 
Dr. Hayman has ingeniously suggested, as sho-wiiig the peculiar 
myeteriousness, that the talilet was conceived to work upon Uio 
mind of its receiver aB a spell, and that the "eigue'* were supposed 
to posseBS some occult tahsraanic propeity similar to poison. The 
question fiirther recurs, why is tlie tablet said to have been fattUd ? 
Is not the reasonable explanation simply this, that it was to 
prevent the bearer from looldug into it, and getting a notion of 
the contents, that is, reneJivtf it, and that it was therefore a message 
convoyed by leritftnj, ivhether in the early and rudimentary stago 
of hieroglyphics, after ' the manner of Egj-pt, or in the oioro 
advanced form of alphabetical writing, after the iiisluou of 
Phccnicia "i 

On the whole, therefore, this the natural interpretBtion.t miits 
all the circumetaiices of the case, a view that becomeB irresistible 
when we take hito aceoinit the position of the Oreek rnee, accord- 
ing to the c\'idehce of both poomB, alongside of the two nations of 
Phoenicia and Egj'pt. It is easy, and even necessary, to admits 
from the Umid way,' for instance, in which a suiglc initial letter (a 
Koppa on early Corinthian coins or * cm Phocreane) was edged in 
upon the Greek coinage, that the art of writing was practically un- 
known, at all eventa for common literaiy jmrposes, for a consider- 
able period after the Homeric poems had been composed; hut it is 
hai-dly poseiljle to admit that, in the extensive intereouree carried on 
-vvifh Plifjenii'ia and Egypt, the inquisitive and penetrating Orceks 
should have caught no gUmpse of the alplmbetic writing of the one 

* Mr, GliHUtoDs (" JnTentns lliuidi,"p. 180), Biigi;e«ts tliat tlia >rt if vritia^nuir hata 
beon an ^ccult pomtrsiiw of a f?n PhanjcUn familiw satlW in Otdtco. Tfaa attaMM 
of Pr<cta^. nho Bonds tbe luj'iitortoiis lahkt id tho " Hind." icnm Mtrordingt; to he 
Eutcrn. Ho hu ouimed a princeu fram Lyclo, aud, if vo mity rvly ou the irnilltlonil 
Uiouffli |ioit-Uomeria ({ennalogies. be in Limoolf oouuuctvd witii Etfypl l>v his ili wmil 
from DuiikUit, who in brother o* ffigrptun. 

hf >tuib aires (Ot H<»q«r,iiD> qnty a )uu)nloclB(= "f ^ntiuil, but MquiLiiilaopv iiH^^H 
nttthfilan, that !«, the Hebrev, tODjiiio ! ^^^^| 



amotry. or the bieroglyphica of tlio other." 
brougbt from Egypt the drng of " Nepenthe " (Od. iv, 220)^ who 
bmidltHl ropes made of the papyruB fOd. xxi. 3iU)j and wlio were 
f^B to report of t]ie river of Egypt and ite •' very fair fields," mtiBt 
have obtoiited some notion of tlm m-t of writing iti ^■iewi^g the 
mtiikuments on its bnnJcs. and nmy have deeoribed the eame witli 
a vagDO Bcnse of wonder, much as some desoeiidunt of Hia^mtha 
VMld deac-ribe the doiuge of the electric -wire. 

lite only other points which we advance under this hpad Con- 
oem the poet's atlitudo to the outer nations and to the Hellenic 
nee> We have already said a vagiie feeHug of the complexity of 
hmoanapoechpoBseBses the authorofthe"'OdyBeey." when heBpeaks 
ofnungling tw uXkoBpoou^' iiSpunrmK. His statemeutas to the variety 
rf tongncB q)oken in Crete (Od. t 175) is paralleled by eirailar 
(tattmeots in tJie "Ihad," but, as wo might expect, the parts are 
dywean <B 804. A 438, K 420). Also, if the- autlior of flie 
Trojui catalogue in " IHad " B is offended by the quality of the 
(peech of the Carians, who are to him /3ap;8apiH^<)i, the author of 
rtie"OdyBBey,"iB repelled by the Siutians, whom he stylos uyfiuji^toKoi. 
This brings us to thu evidence of the latent feeling of nationality. 
Tbicydides, it is true, tells ua that in Homer's time the line in not 
ystformaUy drawn between Greeks and Barbarians, There is, 
Imwever, a preparation for it in the appearance of ench aggrega- 
liaosas UwcUipTK and nnvnx""'. The formoroccui-ein "Iliad" B 580, 
&&eto which wo shall immediately refer. The latter appears 
»Wt eleven times in " Iliad" and "Odyssey," and with one doubtfid 
invention they are all Ulyssfan.t 

Confonnftbly with this viuw, wo may expect a change to be 
pwong over the name " HollajB," so that it should show symptoms 
'rf h^g restiicted no longer to its original area — a comer of 
TiMjwaly — but be seen to be widening its domain. Aecorduigly, 
itiJiat critica. including Bergk. Ebeliiig, and Gladstone, hold that 
'Em ill the " Odyssey " has obtained this more extended applica- 
win, and that it there embraces Nortbem Greece as far as to the 
titdf of Corijith. The range of fame is spoken of as extending 


worthy of montfon in tliis qucstjon. Thoro oppeurs to bo as 
t, (uid neither Bopp nor Onitiiu iiwludsB It in liia GiDiiMrldiD. 
■.xa W liirQ out to be itself Orieutil, anil to hsrs name affinity 
B nitint)), or, more probahlj the I^yptinn Sem = " la figure. 
. u, - unumuntre UiorogljphiqoB." p. 14). Tlio chief dlfflcolty thnt I 
lliin «t}-iuon is tlis V017 canaidsrable doielopmeDl in fvandioi/ «eiu«a, already attained in tha Hamoric pofluis. Tbo early iotarconTRU 
:i<l tboEaiitiDUBl,faov('v« been greater than UcairuuoaJynjppaBed. 
^rimenidjis, the brother of Alcicuii, in the ralloy of tbo EuphratoH, in t|U!. 
-irth century (ftbont BeO B.C.), na shown by the fine frnsmont of AJoipub. 

nith (J 

s that \\ 

being n 
cal inatruiuoaCa in the Book of 

f nwoeenn-ncaisre— II. B484; H 73, 169, 301, 327; K 1. |T 103;] T 23G. Od. 
■ M) (a09 [and ■ 3:f J. Thnt in T belongs to s part of thu poein which has boeo 
fgafly tha labjeet of diibitntioo. It huppoDS to bu in a qir^erh addivaaeil to Uljsaea. 



Ko^ *EXAci&i iCQi fiAirav' kpyat (Od. 

and 80), eqtiivalent t^^ 
sa^Dg " m Northern Greece and in the Peloponnesna ; " tliat is, 
■' famoue on either side of the gulf," ae wo Bay, " on either mde of 
the Tweed." Is there anything parallel in the " Iliad ?" There 
is, in Ulysscau parts, viz. IL I (ix.) 447. where '* Hellas " ia spoken 
of as outside the dominions uf Peleus, and tJierefore not con- 
terminous with the primitive " Hellaa." Also, in the catalogue in 
B 530, we find as a univerHaliBing expreaeion, navtXXiTvatKol'Ap^auiK, 
for which reason the line was doubted in ancient times. Fitsi, how- 
ever, remarks justly that here we have a distribution of people 
parallel to the territorial one, in the " Odyssey,'' of naff 'EAXo&i mw 
/uTOoi' 'ApyiK, and both Fasi and La Roche retain tlie line unbrack- 
eted, uotwithstauding the scniples of tlie ancieut Alexandrians. 

Thus there is a remarkable convergence on various lines of evi- 
dence to show an identity of mental horizon between llie author 
of tlie "Odyssey "and the author of those booksof the "Iliad "wliich. 
for shortneBS, we style Ulyssean. It would be in vain to prove from 
the books of the " Achilleid" anysueh width of vision for th'-ir author. 
We turn to the other points, which we can review only very 

n. The next point for consideration was the presence of the 
allied elemtnts of pathos and himiour. If the " Odyssey" ib dis- 
tinguished by an infusion of these elements, we may expect the 
cognate books of the " Iliad," if they are cognate, to show a certain 
influence of the same kind. This we find to be actually tlie case, 
with this diftereuee, that the pathos culminates in the Ulyssean part 
of the " Iliad," the hmnour in the " Odyssey " itaelf. Under the head 
of patlios, we naturally turn to Book Z, to the parting of Hector and 
Andromache, and, as a kindred scene, the supphcation of I'riam for 
the dead body of liis son, in Book II. It is difficult in the face of 
the internal evidence to separate the authorship of these twcj books. 
One of them, however — viz., (1, from the ling^istio e\-idcnce, must 
belong to the same author as the "0dys8cy,"andtheref(ire, if Book 
(1 is Ulyssean, Book z must be so also. In the " Odyssey," it ia 
true, there is no pathetic scene on Bueh a scale as in these boc^CR. 
but. in its own limited range, the picture of the death-scouc of the 
dog Argus, in its tender tone and its touches of glorious power, 
reveals to the full the master s hand.* 

In dealing with the pathetic element in Book Z, it falls to be 
remarked how in tliis way, upon what wc may call a Ulyssean theory, , 
we obtain a clue to the explanation of the sumewliat difficult and 
inconsistent character of Hector, That hero awakens sometiraee 

* ColonelMareflLof Gr. Lit.i.p.8SS)haBremu'kBfl c^ tlie FimcrnlluupatBtion in Book 
fi(L T23 Bwi.)b; UiB three dames of Troy t.i worthy ol Wag cliUHodwilli thadobato IdUui 
tent of Aclulliw for tbo (eU«ity with which •jiffacsaC veiiui of arstor; are odkpted to 
different •pcBken. Book A waiUd thu* oome inlocloraoonneetionwiUi Booklta rrT-IJfcWii I 
nod Book 1 [or omtoricil power. u^su 


the strongest sympathy, and at other times a feeling of repulsion 
akiu to aversion. He is now boastful even to arrogance, and 
again, as oonscions that he is fighting under a cloud of doom, 
tender and melancholy. It tends to explain the duality in the 
character of Hector — arrogant, in Book N (L 823 seq.), pensive, 
-even to melancholy, in Book Z — when we discover that the 
lender and faint-hearted Hector belongs to the Ulyssean, the 
boastful and loud-tongued Hector to the Achillean, portion of the 

In like manner, the gentle plaintiveness with which the bloom 

4ind evanescence of the generations of man are touched, in the same 

Book Z, with no inferior power — a plaintiveness which drew forth 

die admiration of the greatest master of pathos in the ancient 

world, Simonides — ^harmonizes with the tones of the " Odyssey," 

where symptoms appear of the rise of that melancholy view of life 

which culminated afterwards in the doctrine of the ^wos tfcw, the 

" envy of the gods." The lament over the vanity of human life is 

{Mit appropriately into the mouth of Glaucus, who inherits a touch of 

the melancholy of his ancestor, Bellerophon, the man on whom the 

blight fell, so that he was looked on as " hated by all the gods."* 

Yet, alongside of this plaintiveness there also occurs a touch of 
the never very distant quality of humour, humour and pathos being 
twin aspects of the same emotional faculty. The same poet who puts 
into the mouth of Glaucus the lament over the fading existence 
of man winds up the description of his adventure with an account 
of the bad bargain he made in the exchange of arms, as if with a 
knowing smile of satisfaction that the cunning Greek had got the 
better of the lordly Asiatic. In point of feet, this gleam of quiet 
hmnour at the close of the episode is one of the features that has 
dniwn against it the arrows of certain Wolfians, and, along with 
the oijpira XvypoL and the reference to the cultus of Dionysus, 
-elsewhere almost unknown to either poem, has caused that exqui- 
*te episode to be pronounced by many an intei-polation. It is a 
^gnificent bit of painting, however, mainly in honour of Ulysses' 
brother-chief, Diomed, and will be found, on examination, to 
^^tain in small compass the pathos, somewhat of the humour, 
^^ much of the spirit of adventure distinguishing the epos 
<^naecrated to Ulysses. 

Under the head of humour proper, the two examples that most 
'^•dily occur to the mind from the Homeric poems arc, of coui-se, 
we companion pictures of the scene with Thersites in B of the 
**Diad," and that with Irus in the eighteenth of the " Odyssey." 

Hie oecimeiioe in the ^^ Odyssey " of ^i}X^>Aoycf (Od. # 118), and kyivaarro (Od. ^ 
^11\ vith reference to the gods in their dispensations, favoarn the idea that the doctrine 
^ w» f#^s 9c«»r, which appears as early as the story of Bellerophon, was at work 
«bolB the "Odyssey." 




TJlyeses is the protagoniBt in bott, and, witt the exception that 
there is somewhat of a aeverertone in the handling of the Theraitca' 
Bcene — as befitB the general surroundiugs where it in placed — ^the 
same powerful pencil may be detected at work in both pictures. 
Once, in the " Odyssey," the humour overflows into the biirleaqne, 
in the case of the scene in the eighth book of the " Amour of 
Ares and Aphrodite." Stronger exception ha* been taken to tiiis 
scene on ethical grounds than to almost any other in either poem, 
from the freedom with which the gods seem to be treated, and t3ie 
levity that appeara to prevail. It is to be observed, however, ihat 
it has a certain relevancy to the whole poem, where it appear^ as 
the obverse aide of the picture of conjugal faithfulness, which is a 
main subject of the song. The most important point, however, for 
observation is the fact that it is the same two deities Bguring 
disreputably here, that are subjected to disgrace from the spear ot 
Diomed in the Ulyssean book ( E ) of the " Hiad." 

Other two portions of the "IKad" may be mentioned as 
characterized by a strong infusion of humour. The one ia the 
scene in Olympus, at the end of the first book, where Hephrostos 
makes mirth as the limpiug cupbearer. This occurs, no doubt, on 
the borders of a Ulyasean book ; yet, as the first book is one that 
must be pronounced in the main Achillean, we are not entitled to 
claim it as an illustration, although the treatment of the gods 
suggests the free handling to which they are subjected in the 
eighth book of the " Odyssey." The other is the miBadv-enturo 
of Ajax the Less when, in the contest of the foot-race (and Ulysses, 
be it noted, is his fellow-competitor), he stumbles and meets with 
mishap Eimong " cow-dung," and the crowd " laughs merrily o'er 
him." This occurs, significantly, in a canto which is included 
among the Ulyssean (viz., * 777 ),t 

We have thus Bhn\vii a considerable amount of oongruity in the 
allied elements of pathos and humour between the " Odyssey " imd 
those books of the "Iliad" which are external to the main atructore 
of the " Achilleid." The " Achilleid " if«elf presents no auulogooB 
features ; and we think there is a justification in this respect for 
estabhshing a difference between the two divisions of the " Disd.'^ 

III. The third point of reference will not detain us long, «a^~ 

*Tli« tnuIitioD thai Tbcrai tea, nbowKS (rliutined bj UIjsmb, wsaakinu 
has no wftrrimt in Uio Homeric poom& Tlii- SoboUikBt (B L. ia Venetiui Soholia ' 
BSI3)m78, "If he liBd been in fut B V<Dnnin of DW«I, IH^sca wtmlil ant 
atmck bim," a remark that ghovs lita aejiao of the relation gobaiiting botwacm '" 
and Diomed. 

t In SDfiporl o! this view iC is iuportanl to note that the aKitude of tba crowd ia 
cane d[ Ajax ta described in the lanie phruBe ua ia that of Thortit«« : tw' mtr^ 
•fixuiiTar. The phraee ytyir itl tiki ocourn six tidiea in tbo Homeric posma— in B 
V 7Si and e4u. and Od. u 356, 374. alul « 8T6, and thorafora aU Ulfvean. In (act, 
peonliar Tooabnlnry of "Humour" BMiaa confined to the "OiItiwj" and tb* tflji" 
■Toa, aa an eiamination nt ^(l^o'iot, TfAaioo, ira/fu, end, to n cottain oileet, 
will Bbow. 




It ton 


moment, it i& BtlU ot'valu' 
tant feature of the ■■ Odyseey," and ou« of eu griiat promiuence that 
its appearaace may be looked for iu any cognate poems — the appre- 
ciation of conjugal houom- and affection. The "Odyesey" might be 
styled the romance of weddedlove, in raarkedand emphatic contrast 
to the modem romance of pre-nuptial love. In modem tiniea tht.' 
"fvTwi^ He" has UBiii-ped to itoelf tlie whole, or almost the 
whole, arena of imagination, to the exclusion of otlier emotions 
and afiectious. It ia otherwiso with Homer, who has bent th« 
nrholeibrce of hie genius to portray the constancy and patience, 
the eudurauco and the triumph of a queenly lady faithfid to her 
lurd. It is no doubt a one-sided picture, inamuuch as the poet, 
wbu is 80 careful of the honour of Penelope, is not equally careful 
of llio fealty of Ulysses towards her. On this matter we do not 
lODch, hut 8im])ly note iu passing that modern muraht^' has no 
ngkt to reproach ancient morahty on the score of a looser rule of 
honour for the one sex compared with that exacted of the other. 
Itisenough for our purpose to be ablo to appeal to the " Odyssey " 
tt presenting a noble ideal of the female character, and to present 
null ao ideal wc may presume to have been a ruling motive in 
the atiud of its author.* 

Now, we may look in vain in the " IHad " for any parallel por- 
toit of ftimale teudemeeH and devotcdness. uxilt^aa it be in one of 
ihew cantos which we have found, on otlier grounds, cognate iji 
clamcter to the " Odyesey," and there we are mot by the picture 
gt Andromache. It is with good reason that Colonel Mure (H. of 
litfi. p, 432) dwells on this similarity as an anti-Wolfinn argu- 
Ditst; and he calls attention to the fact that the mild rebuke 
■duauistcred to them both, to mind their own domestic matters, 
U(I not meddle with the afiairs that belong to men, is couched in 
*buitt identical terms for both princesses in both poems. There 
■N iWeforo, a. certain amount of evidence for the aflinnation that, 
1^ tbo band of Walter Seott might be tniced by the frequency 
*i^ which ho has sketched tlie groiip of a father with an only 
"*igiiter. Homer might be known similarly by his double picture 
"f the wife and mother mth an only sou, Andromache and 
■Artyanax being a compauion pair to Penelope and Tefemachus, 

IV. The fourth point remains, viz., the attitude towards Ulysses 
**lLc impersonation of inteUigenco. A full discussion of it would 
*^«ny tw very far : we may, however, briefly indicate the leading 
■taturea which lead us to behevo that a special vein of admiration 
^r UlyuCK nuie through those books of the '- Diad " which we have 
'•'tntored to call ITlysacan, strongly suggestive of the more pro- 

'Ir, 61ii1«loiia (Jav. Mnndi, p. 4O0), in o&o of Iiw mnny happ; iUnstntions, which 
^jlta tbivv tool* light tlinn tho most Inboarcd iHtK'rUtiooB, remarks that tbo l>w of 
M(had aUhmiiu rc-maiiiiig* ftfter a ahorti-T pericxl c( abwDoo thnn that wsignBd to 

s 2 



nounced admiration that has poured itself forth in that intm 
Bpleiidid of poems ever consecrated to a eingle name — theOdymev. 

In tho roll of UlysBoan cantos, we shall proceed backwards, 
because the prominence of Ulyssee seeme rather to dimmish aa we 
approach, and to increase as we retii-e from, the neig-hboiirhood of 
the "Odyeeey." In Book O we do not find any homage or reference 
to him, and tho proofs whereby that book appears to be UlyBsean. 
thongh we beliere (tnfflcicnt, are mainly Hnguietic. It is as if the 
poet felt that there was no need to decorate one who wasso near 
the horizon aa the rising snn. Going backward among thwc 
cantos, we find, howei-er, a change. In *, the canto of the 
games, Ulysses is represented as entering the foot^mce (that he is 
not in the chariot-race, competing with the grander kings, ia in 
accordance with his humble position in the camp, without an 
equipage), and he wins the prize. This may not mean much, but 
when we consider that it is through the special favour of Athene. 
who is the only deity that interposes in these games, and that she 
limits her favour to ITlj'sseB and Diomed, we are disposed to argue 
that this is a forecasting of the scene in the eighth canto of the 
" Odyssey," when Ulysses astonishes tlie minds of the PhieakianB 
in their games, through tlie help of the same goddess. 

Paaeing to Cantos ix. and x., or I and K of the roll, we find 
Ulysses coming into greater prominence.* He is selected to be 
the spokesman of the Greek chiefs iu the Embassy to Achilles, 
and is therefore in a position for the time second only to that of 
Achilles — the hero of the " OdyBsey " addresses the hero of the 
"Ihad." This position, it may be said, is nowise peculiar; bo 
owed it to the reputation he enjoyed in epic tradition as an 
adroit speaker ; audit does not mean miicli, thoughitisinfaTOurof 
our argmnent; but it will be difficult to explain, on any oUier 
theory thiin tliat which wo are unfolding, the peculiar honour 
bestowed on liim in K, or Book x., especially when it is remem- 
bered that this canto was regarded in ancient times as being ex- 
ternal to the nucleus of tho poem. Tho special care with which 
Ulysses is drai"ni in that book (for we consider Mr. Gladstano 
right in accounting it the true &parrtia of Ulysses, that is, tlwj 
canto celebrating liis prowess), the mode in wliioh the real direc- 
tion of the night adventure is bestowed on tho sliarp-eyed Ulyise^ 
the manner in which the poet invests him with interest 1 "* " 
long history of the casque,! which he dons for the occaaoi 

piMitiaii of them cB 
ro//«. or chief ntft.' 

t Tlia ftceonnt of ths deioaat of the " Helmet " (K 2G0— STl) !i a 
ot oiiQate deacriptloD, panllaled In tb« Homeric poenu oolf b^ the dmnent o( tt 
ia " Hind " B. luid the bow of Enrytiu io thft " Odywoy." Th* motw ' ' 
the liiiDat« wonl-paialing dsicriptiTO of tlwwo inilnnaenla. ii whin L'lfUi 



1 reuder him the hero of the hour. Moreover, the re- 
nnAahle relatioQ in which he elands to Diomed in this book is 
importoQt when we take into accotiut the very different relation 
In which lio stantls in a neighbouring but not Ulyasean canto 
(vis. 9 ), a point to which we shall afterwards refer. 

Proceft<Ung now to the maes of continuous cantos which 

extend from Book ii. to vii. inclimive, and which are generally 

conadered, even by those inclined to the Wolfian view, to be a 

fwriy uniform sequence, we inquire what the position of Ulysses 

is in th^^ie ; and on the assumption of a unity between them, it 

follows tliat if the author of any one of these cantos can be 

shown to have intended special homage to Ulysses, the whole 

maybe fairly pronounced Ulysaoan. Here, agaiij,the prominence 

seems to increase as we ascend toward tin? earlier cantos. In the 

last of these, or U, there in no special mention, except that he is 

one of the nine worthies that start forth ready to accept Hectors 

diaOeuge. That he is a marked pereonage ia indicated by the 

nodu in which his name is introduced, namely, at the close of tlie 

Hst, 80 that he ia not, as it were, lumped in with the rest, but, since 

bs fioold not be named first, or take precedence of Agamemnon, 

dn neet place of note is aefiigned to him, tliat his name comee 

lut, and is therefore the climax (H 1G8). That this interpreta- 

fion is the correct one, rather tlian another which might explain 

UlyBsee as coming last on prudential principles, is shown by the 

nuner ia which he elsewhere resents the imputation of "coming 

hrt" (iu a3.^4). The slowness he seems to show in "Iliad" B 

|1. 170) is altogether of a different kind, and the circumstances 

flwre are entirely tliffereut, so that no fair argument can be thence 

dravu against our view of the incident m Book H (lliS). 

In Cantos r, 4, E, Z, he appears in a poaitiun of prominence second 
only to his companion Diomed, with whom wo have found him 
HHXaated so closely in Book K ; and the same association is appa- 
wrtin E (cf. 1. 519 and (JG'J — 67ti). where he shares with Diomed 
*li* (peoial favour nf Athene, and slays seven Lycian warriors, 
ra fines that seem intended to parallel the similar exploit of Achilles 
""er tlie seven Pienniane {* 211). This guardianship of Athene, 
^r!k runs through the whole of the " Odyssey," is an ospecial 
"ccoiapaniment of Ulysses in several of the Ulysseau books of 
lit "IHad," particularly in B. E. K, and *. In A 500 he is represented 
"» ptrfonniug the exploit that turns the fortune of the day, and it 
foiKg Apollo's indignation, so that the god addresses reproaches 
*i his baffled Trojans. That he was a favourite hero of the poet 
"f these books appears still more clearly from the evidence of the 

*Bi *t cu) ilmmt troco the Ntme keen odcI loving ejo in tiio doMripHoo as that with 
*ti(^ our Manal compeer ttr Homer in modem times. Waller Scott, would duten on alid 
kudlf om Kiiuo piecfl of BucJEnt uiDonr that had paaaed tbrongh niany a hand and 


BrfBniXi^w in Book i, whero he ib placed ftloiigeide of Meiiestheiia,^^^ 
Athenian Ifflder, and is the mouthpiece of the Atiienians, as well as 
o! hifl ovm insular troops, in replying to the taunts of AgHmemnoii. 
The Ionian poet, if we arejustifiedin assuming an Ionian poet as the 
autlior of thispartofthe "Iliad" — a point which is clear from matiy 
coneidcrationB — has thus brought UlyBses into close conn ootion with 
the Athenians, the ancestors of the Ionian race, and has made hira. 
ill fact, the representative and spoltesiTian of the great sea^people of 
the historic time. Contrast tiie position of the Athenians in thin 
booV, under the wing of Ulysses, ^vith the position which they hold 
in Book one of the Achillean books, where they are mere " food 
for powder," and wi* discern the difference between the Ionian and 
the Thessalian, or, in other words, the Ulyiwean and Achillean 
portions of the " Iliad." It has always been found to be a diffi- 
culty how Athene should have so great apparent prominence in 
the catalogue in B, and why Menestheus, their commander, ahouid 
be praised as a good tactician, and at the head of troops who are 
caUed "inspirers of flight," whereas there is not only no exploit 
of any note ascribed to the Atheniiuis, but in more than one place 
they are represented as inferior warriors. Mr. Gladstone ha« 
stated this difficulty in the following terms ; — 

'* Tlieae lonians wore, aa it should seem, the ruling class of the Atbediaua, 
(be 'ABrpraimv wpoKtkeyiiipoi. or. it may be, tlieir picked men. The praise 
awarded to Mcuestheus in tiie cntalogue, even if the pnasage be genuine, Ls 
only that of being good, to use a modem phrase, at pntting- his men into Une. 
(B 554.) The Athenian soldiers, indeed, are declared in II. iv. Si8 to be 
valiant, ftrfmtptii aJir^s ; but the character of the commander \a wotM 
than negatiTO. Though of kingly parentage, he nowhere appears amooff. 

the eoveming spirittt of the army and on the imly oiTJiaion when 

we find him amid the clash of arms — namely, when the brave Lycians are 
threatening the |iart of the rnmpnrt committed to his charge, ho shwlders 
and kurfta about hito for aid (xii. 331). The inferiority extends to the other 
Athenian chiefs— Pheidas, Stichioa, Bias, and laaoM (xiii. r;91,'x^-. 337,&C.) ; 
of whom all are nndistingmshed, and two — Stichios and lasos — are ' food 
for powder,' alara by Hector and jiKneas respectively. Ilere, then, there 
seems to have been bravery without qualities for command ; and all this 
tends to exhibit the Athenians as in a marked degree Pelasgiau at this 
epoi-h, stout but paaaive, witliout any of the ardour or the kIki-s of the 
Itellenie character." — JuventW' MnniK, pp. SI, S2. 

The difficulty i^ however, entirely removed, not by referring it 
to any slippery distinction between a Hellenic and a Pela«|p«li 
element, which Mr. Gladstone seems to prefer, but by referring it 
to the influence of Ionian partiality- in tJie case of the Touiati batd. 
who has embroidered tho lay of the "Achilleid" with oroamentB m 
honour of his own nationality, not native originally to the poMn. 
lu this point of vievr the connection of Ulj-sses with Menestheua 
in Book A comes appropriately to clinch the argument. Tfaflu^ 
position of Athene as tho patron goddess of Athene is at)flMH| 



^^Kr which ^ves Mr. Gladstone trouble, and he i» at a loen to 

^^Hidle this tact vntli the absence of any special protection to 

^^Hlth^nian hero. The paasages in which this special relation is 

^^Bated between Athene and Athens are, however, XIlyBsean — 

m.n. B 547—551. Od.«81andA 332, and the first of these is easily 

explained ae part of the embroidery which the Ionian poet has 

Tforked in, apon a texture of an originally different cliaracter. 

In regaril to the Book r, there are several notable oircuniBtanues 
tu adduce — (I) that Ulysses is tingled out as atanding alongside 
of AgMmcTinon in the scene of the Oaths (1. 2R9) ; (2) that he is 
lunjoined ii-ith Hector in measuring the lieta. as if acting an 
UnSavint to the king of men ; and (3) that we have the fuU- 
dmwn portrait of him as the man of eloquence presented to ur 
C-Sifi — 224) in the beautifiil scene where Helen appears on the 
Trojan wall. Two things are to be noted here: that he is by 
far the most prominent person in this portrait-gallery of the 
Ta^mkojni ; for, wlule Ajax, Idomeneue, and even Agamemnon, 
sri' dismissed with a few lines, Ulysses is introduced second after 
Agamemnon, and, though expressly said to be smaller in stature 
»iid king of only a barren rock, he yet fills the field of vision so fully 
that out of seventy lines appropriated to the description of the Greek 
cliie&, the httle Ithacan occupies thirty-four, or about half the space. 
The second point is, that in the description of his eloquence 
llie palm is bestowed in so marked a manner that it seemi^ to 
clash with or endanger the pre-eminence in tliis respect of Achilles 
bimseli^ Here, again, we think we can trace the unconscious 
pariiftlity of the Ionian bard for the insular hero ui whom tho 
genius of the Ionian race is more or less consciously prefigured. 

If the position of Ulysses is thus notable in Books r and A, it is 
perliaps still more notable in Book B, in which several facts 
of iuiportance combine to place him in a focus of splendour. 
TiiB old Saga Imd represented him as the last of the chiefs who 
found hiB way home, and accordingly the Nirros, or Return, 
Ouuctli desired, ^va8 eared for by him only in the event of its 
J ubtained with duty and honour. He is accordingly the 
pent of any tUshonourablo Nootos, and in the area of the 
lean poem (H 82, &c.), a scene is now fouad in which he has 
voke Agamemnon for faint-heartednese and for the proposal 
i inglorious return. What relation this has to the scene hi 
bB, we do not now inquire ; the one scene is, htjwever, pro- 
i the origin or suggesting cause of the other ; it is at all events 
J clear that Ulysses was known as the determined opponent 

V diiAotionrahle retuni. It is therefore to him that the 

p™se Ti'Ae is assigned of opposing the proposal for such a 

"^ot in B, although that proposal comes from the month 

^^^ramemuon, and Beems, at all events tentatively, to have 



his Buuctioii. ThroHgil the greater part of tliia 
tho most proiniiieiit ptrson ill tlie camp, and is invested wiA 
special insignia aB the bearer of the "Sceptre," which he receives 
from tim haud of Agamemnon, and which ie deeeribed with snch 
Btate and nptendonr of Burroundings. 

And wherefore ehonld tlie taek of etaying tiie No«rros, and 
ropreeeiiig the eeditiouB movements m the a«sombIy, be entrusted 
to UlyBsefl? Not merely because of his chameterfor eloqnencc 
and wisdom, nr because of the poasible reflection fi-om the scene 
in E 82, above referred to, where he opposes the notion of a 
NoiTTM, but because he was pre-eminently the chosen hero who 
has to vindicate the cause of order in his oivn cnimtrj' on liis 
return. In no mouth, therefore, does the Homeric maxim of 
order — ofiic &yaffiv jroXiwoipoMij — find itself placed wth more appro- 
priateness ; and the swift and shaip stroke rebuking tho inso- 
lence of Thersites is dealt by the same hand that adrainiBters jusfc 
vengeance to the crew of the suitors. If anything were needed to 
crown the argument as to the eminent position assigued t*> 
Ulyssee, it would be tlie circumstance that he has the hononr 
of being conjoined with Achilles in the hatred of Tlxersitee — 
f^urrtK S' 'Aj(iX^I ^oAictt" ^v ^8* 'OSwj^t — a line that marks out the 
two heroes as standing apart and alone, yet together, and the fiiU 
import of it can only be imderstood if we appreciate the hand of 
theauthorof the "0dy88ey"aBatworkiii this portion of the "Iliad." 
A similar argument might be drawn from the epithet "saeker of 
cities," vToAiirop^os, assigned him in this same connection (B 278), 
a title which, among the various heroes present at Troy, he alono 
shares with AchiUee, The same epithet recurs in a more advanced 
portion of the "Iliad" — viz., K 303, alsti Ulyssean — so that these 
two occunences are premoiiitoiy of its coming bestowal, as a not 
unfreqnent epithet, in the " Odyssey."* 

A fact still more striking yet remains. Without attaching miicb 
importance to the premonition of the " Odyssey," where UlysaeB 
(B 202) alludes to the hardships of separation from home and 
spouse, or the occasional cropping uji of the mainly U lysseau irord 
i-fSoTot and vita^ai in the passage (155 and 2ol)~aB it does also 
in 1 and K — we cannot but claim importance to the singula! 
title by which in this book (B) tlie hero chooses to designate 
himself, and which is premonitory of the " Odyssey." It is a titlo 
that marks a peculiar relation in respect of those home aOet^ 
which the " Odyssey " is intended to celebrate, and on whi 
whole d^omment of it turns. While other heroes bavol 

*A similu' fact Bttiabc* to tbe loeilluition of jmoUior striking epiiliot, ttin. Uljil^' 
M remiiTkocI by Mr. Glwlstone, ia tho only lieii-g Lero tb»t rweiveg it, oXPrpt Aoti3!e», 

IS a titlo 

A SOfl, Mid in all. 


I nuigned to ITljxw upnarJi of Iwtvttf 
" fonr tiioBB. TJiej oro B 3116, I SIS, K """ 



sawn from thcnr paternal aucesturs. nuiirt-r or more remote, 
*nd while there are some traces in the horolc time of designatioii 
ifter a maternal ancestor, such as AttoiSijs ia Husiod, and, in the 
''TUftd.''the problemRtical cose of the MoX&m, L'iysses chooaee as 
the title by which he woTild be designated an appellation, neithei- 
]iatTonyniic nor matronymic, but, if wu may so style it, a 
[wedonymic, from his ton, viz. (1. 200), •' the father of Tele- 
maehtui." The eanie desiguation is assumed by him in 11. A 354, 
e of tlie minor liuke binding these two cantos together, and 
; both to the fi-amework of the " Odyssey." 
Irfdngular that the hero who, more than any other, prefigures 
character of the Greek mco, and especially of the 
aniitn, should thus bo represented as the only one not gazing 
ImctflfErd upon the past, but. as it were, looking down the vista 
of tbe future ; and we cniinot help tliinkiiig that, whatever might 
W tile poet's view over the distant future, hie vision comprehended 
theimmediatefutui-e, and already gave note of the hnportant ni/e 
to he played by Telemaohus in the coming drama of the 
" Oilyasey," 

To attempt further proof would be in all pi-obability only a 
weakening of the case, but there is one consideration that rattst 
be added which seems to convert the arg^ient into a demonstra- 
liun, vi?^, the position of Ulysses in the books which caimot bo 
claimed to be otherwise than mainly Achillean. In the Achillean 
"T primary '* Iliad," the treatment of Ulyssee, while generally 
fMIwctful, is by no means noble, and in more than one instance 
It is difficult to reconcile it with the just honour of the hero of the 
"Odyaioy." That hero is represented more than once as being 
'oMttd, and in the eleventh book (I. 404) he is not only wonnded, 
«* Didroed also is, but he comes before us — in an appalling moment, 
nn dinibt — as having difficulty in screwing Ins courage up, and he 
Irta fall an m fun iya, n jTofliu, which is not rendered with any 
"be nuance when it is translated, " 0, woe is me, what is to become 
"^iiiet" This, in the midst of a battle, has a very awkward 
wiind, compared with the same utterance when he is cast 
amishitig and naked on the unknown shore (in Od. « 4Go), where 
ine words are both natural and honourable, and imply no shade or 
wlr iin his courage. Passing from this, however, which may be 
stlfBrt a doubtful case, we can come to only one conclusion as to 
""' figure nysses makes iu the eighth book. In the thick of the 
""ttle there Itoa been a portent from Zeus which scares the Greek 
"•'Weft; and, among other misadventures, old Nestor is in danger, 
his Hiuipage liaving got entangled. IHomed observes and calls out 
to Ulysaes by name to come and rescue Nestor. In spite of his 
loud Appeals to stop, and not tnni his back lU-e n roworil. liut stay 
ield the old mnn's head, UlypBi-S is represente'l as '■ rusliing 



away past," and " paj-s no heed " to tliG appeal (vvi. L rl 
Other heroes, such ae the Ajaxes, are, it is tnie, repre 
giving way also, but they do bo withont being appealed i 
Diomed. Nor does UlyeWB emerge from bis retreat for tf^S _ 
period, for he is uot mentioned among the 'heroes who sally fortS 
a little later in the name book, to restore the fortune of the day 
n, 261-6), whereas all the others who are spoken of as ha^'ing 
retreated before are mentioned as returning, except Ulysses. The 
strangest thing remains — strange iiideed, if all these cantos are 
from the same author, aud " at one projection " — namely, that on 
tlie next occasion when there is anything of dangerous dirty 
ahead, viz., in Book x. (or K), tliie same Diomed has not only no 
recollection of the awkward incident in the case of Ulysses related 
two books before, but withont any apology on the part of UlyBses for 
his beha^nour, or any explanatiou on the part of the poet, bestows 
unnecesBarily lavish praise on him as the most trusty of comrades 
{K 240-7), and selects him as his companion^n-arms otit of the 
whole company of the chiefs. The whole matter becomes plaiu.aud 
order is at once restored into these complicated relations, when we 
remember that while Book K ia decidedly Ulyssean, the part of 
Book I'iii. ( H ) describing the queer conduct of Ulysses, belong 
to the " Acliilleid," whicli, in Ids recasting of the poej 
Ulj-ssean singer has left untouched. 

Such is a. prima facie view of the case in favour of a Ulyi 
origin to nearly one-half of the "Iliad," leaving an "Aohil! 
over, whose origin is more remote, and therefore more obi 
This palaeozoic portion can still be determined with toltl 
accuracy, though occasionally at the points of junction the I 
of demarcation may be difficult to determine. The evideoce 
adducible in favour of this conclusion fr^m the mythology, ethical 
views, and especially from the linguistic features winch still 
survive after all the processes that have passed over the original 
lay of the " Wrath of Achillea," is very remarkable, but our limits. 
and the nature of this paper, forbid entrance on this part of tho 
Bubject, or any allusion to possible objections and difficulties, none 
of which, however, will be found very formidable in the face oj^ 
the largo mass of countervaihng evidence. 

One thing remains. An objection will occur in limintfUiu 
theory involves a hystemi proUron in dealing with the J' 

* "Dn9 irt koin mluuToller ^lomeiit," enys Nntzhorn. (p. 211), is 4siliaf-ir{ 
iocirJoBt, Bnd Itu t6da tbst Uio words roA^Xat ITx 'Oluaatist of IL viii. 97, ■' 
ttu* cmiTtantioD almOHt lihe it parody — a reitiirknbls Hdminaion (rom ■ dvfml* 
unity. Makinir oil ■Jlowance (or " the fonrs at the brare, and the fol]i*H of tiim n 
i« difficult to refioueUo the UlyBies of Iko oigbUi '■Bi»d" w' " " 
"Odr«»_Y," impoBsiblo to roconcils Mm willi the Ulyawa of the Icnth ■'Ilhid.'*' 
•ooepl, ■( oDurso, Aristarehiw's intorprstntion of eiJ* iaintuaf, vii., " gftTn im b 
prefarenco lo the nnteuDhls ono. which sseka to save hU honour, tbot. p ' '^ " 
tho throng, •' lir did ncl hear." 



^^Pm^ laaBinucli as it given the critical precodence to what ih 

aaeunted'to be the secondary and iiiferioi- poem, A few remarks 

are therefore due regarding the relative important-o aod eigiiili- 

caQoe of tlie two poems, with a. view to putting the matter in a 

light more accordant with tliB facte than the comnion opinion 

implies. I am awaro that Mr. Giadstuno hafl expreesed himself in 

favour of the ■' Disd," aa the popm of vaster acope and profoundov 

geuioB ; but there aro not a few cnoBiderationB that move me to 

call for B different verdict, if assent to that proposition involves a 

Ixiiief that the " Iliad " is the greater poem. It may bo freely 

admitted that the '■ lUad" has unrivalled pagioffet, and the theory 

propounded in this paper supplies a clue to imderBtand the 

genesis of many of the most notablo of them; yet it remains tme 

that the " Odyssey" is tlio gieater potm. as being (1.) the more 

fini^^ work of art, and (2.) the poem of tlie Greek raoe.^ur &rc«/- 

laut,m its best and most typical characf oiistica. If we inquire what 

it ia that distinguishes Greece in tho annals of the world, the reply 

wiD embrace two things — that she is the mother of that inquiring 

iutelUgeace which lias given the world Science ; and that she is. 

tnrther, the fountain of Art. Looked at from this point of view across 

the ages of history, which of the two poems possesses most signifi- 

tance? We can hardly doubt tliat the verdict would be in 

favour of the " Odyssey," whose hero is tho incarnation of that 

rjHrit of eager inqnirj- that Greece awakened on the earth, and 

wWch in its structure — so sharp and clear of outline, and yet so 

broad and grand — is itself a prefigiiration of that art whose gloiy 

WM bestowed on the people of Greece. For, however great may 

b« tlie character of Achilles — and we cannot be blind to the glory 

ifilli which he is invested as gaining the victory, not only over 

foeg and fjiends, over Greeks and Trojans, but finally over liimself 

Slid his own impetuous passion — it yet remains true that Acliilles 

i« nut the representative of the Greek race ; Achilles is not 

^^fmroi an was the Greek people, along with their typical hero 

llytBes ; and to accept him in that character would involve our 

looMiig to Sparta instead of Athens as the glory of Greece, and 

"irtnlliug Alexander over Pericles in the temple of Greek fame. 

Tt«t would be an entire inversion of the justice of the case, and 

^onld involve a ht/nlrron proteron from which the historical con- 

•wifnce must recoil," 

i.<>J on tluB point in tha Spnpnsinm, obterTiog that, with nil hia 

-. Ai^billeii vss not woKirpttwai. Tho moat brilliainl of these, hia love of 

■ l.iijnenes, it m«y bo ronnrked, dopenda on ono of the UlysBBUj cantn* 

■ ' :; uid, indeed, the noftoning touchea in hia portrollnre sro raainlj 

■■— .ii L lyaaoa, ftgnin, is pre-amiDCDtly xe^irpinroi, and n. curiona onamera- 

^"1 gl lua aocompliahmonta (to the oamber of aiiteon), ia found in the Venetian 

I SrklUoii n. Tui. 93. The enumeratian is almost u inCereatin^ in what it omits an 

I ni rtw H insert*. There U no rofopenee to e/piuli-fm poyners. To enter on this, how- 

"■r, l»i]cbf' on ■ point Umt ^oea doep into the atractnrs and matoal relations of tha 

ail llio " OilTSwy. " 


Other, and not less powerful, coiisiderationB might be adduced 
in the same direction, as to the ethical import contained in, and 
the immense influence flowing from, the " Odyssey,'* but space 
forbids the inquiry at present. 

Our theory, therefore, is that the only Homer we know, or, 
indeed, can know, is the author of the ** Odyssey ;'* that, although 
his personality is, by the nature of his poetry, more veiled from us 
than that of Hesiod, yet, as no one doubts the personal existence 
of Hesiod, or disbeUeves that we have in the " Works and Days** 
genuine utterances of an actual historic man, so we have in the 
solitary /*oi of ovSpa fioc hvttrt in the " Odyssey " a trustworthy 
trace of Hom^r as a single great personality.* 

Our oldest and best authority as to the Homeric poems unites 
together the names of Ulysses and Homer in a way that shows 
that liSy unlike the chorizontes of ancient or of modem times, 
believed the " Odyssey** to have a special right to be considered 
the work of Homer : — 

Xayov 'Ofivotroi)9 ^ vaB€i/. &a tot aSvcr^ yefMt "Ofktfpw^ 
iirtl ifrcvSeox ol irorayf, re fujvav^ 
a'€fja^v hr€irri Ti.—Pindar^ Nenu viL 21. 

^^ Vot my part, I deem Ulysses' fame exceeds his toils, all because of the 
sweet- voiced Homer, for in his fictions and aery chariot of song there 
dwells a majestic spell." 

WiLUAM D. Geddes. 

* It is somewhat cnrions to find that tho traditional traces of the personalia of Homer, 
Hnpposed to be imbedded in his poetry, such as the links of oonnection with Phemim^ 
Tuchius^ Mentor, tc^ fall within the area of tho ^* Odyisey " or the UlysBean part of tli» 
'^niad.*' The Pierian or Thessalian poet, to whom is dne in all probability the lay of iSb» 
*' Wrath,** retiree former back into InTisibility, for he gives in the exordium of Ui 
poem not even a /mi to fasten on. 

Beginning of the co-operative 


CO-OPEILVTION is Olio of tlie troubles of the time. Tt 
cannot be said to be a disturbing influence, since it seeks 
ooitj-.and has always been pacific ; but society has been disturbed 
cnocermng it for fifty years. The firet revolt of the grocers 
agaiiut it took place before the days of the first Reform Bill. 
At present it is a greater trouble than ever to tradesnieji. Poli- 
tidans arc pertiirbed about it. AVhen Mr. Baliol Brett, now Mr. 
Jnttice Brett, went down to Rochdale to wrest Mr. Cobden's seat 
frwia hinj, his great charge against 5Ir. Cubden was that he was 
frieudly to Co-operators. At the last election, candidates were 
*'frv shy of sliowing any sj-mpatliy with these views. To two 
•^iididatce, who had held seats in the pvevious Parliament, the 
knowledge that thoy had stood up for lair play for Co-operation 
proved tatal to their claims. Co-operation has been the perplexity 
•^f two Governments. Chancellors oftheExchequerhaveatcrrorof 
di'putalions praying to have it put doivn. The last Government 
*-"'»rufiiIly abstained from sayuig anything in its favour, and tide 
'-•I'V 0111 in lint carefully abstains from doing anything against it, 
*-av gtmeral opinion is that Co-operation is absurd and impossible : 
*"'l if not impossible, unpracticable. Nevertheless it exists, and 
't liecumes a question of some interest — how did tlus Co-operative 
'rouble begin ? It can do no harm, and may be information to 
^niauy persons, to explain it. The originator of that Co-operation 
'' ' p. attracts ao Urge a slmro of perturbed attention, and which 



already requires a History to bt; ivritten of it, was undoubteiJfy 
one Hobcrt Owen, who was bora so far back as in 1771, a year 
before Fourier. Nature waa iu one of her adreiitm'ous mooda at 
that period. In the four years from 17(i9 to 1772 there appeared 
Napoleon, Wellington, Goethe, Owen, and Fouiier — all historic 
men in their separate lines ; bane and antidote, war and art, world- 
destroyera and world-makers. Robert Owen, who waa boru iu 
Newtown, Montgomeiyahire, waa afterwards known as Owen of 
New Lanark. It is not alluring to tell the reader this, as nmity 
will consider that he ie not a proper kind of pereon to be brought 
forward iji le^tiniate history, and that it was a want of taste in 
him to intrude improvements upon the world wliich would necessi- 
tate his being accorded some kind of acknowledgment. But 
history is an unceremonious and bmtal thing. Ita natural food is 
facts, and when it gets them it has no choice, no scinjples, and no 
remorse. The truth is that, hi Mr. Owen's days, " proper persons " 
had no faculty of improvement in them of the kind the world 
most wauted, and therefore au oatute Welshman took it into his 
benevolent and fertile head to do what he could. And thus it 
came about that Co-operation was really a Welsh inventiou. In 
no Uterature before the active days of this social de\T8or does any 
trace of this new industrial shibboleth appear. 

In these happy and latitudinarian times, anybody may iiA- 
prove society who can, and society is very ^ad when anybody 
gives signs of the capacity of doing it. His services are ac- 
cepted, and no questions are asked. But in Co-operotive times 
no one was allowed to attempt any good, unless he commanded 
prelatical concurrence. The "pastors and masters" of tho 
period held then the exclusive patent for improving the people, 
and though they made poor use of it, they took good care that 
nobody infringed it. Improvement, like the sale of com, was a 
monopoly then ; but we have free trade even in humanity navr — 
though the business done is not very great yet. 

Mr. Owen was an unusual man. His career has been found one 
of instruction and interest to many who bad no thought of 
imitating it. By patience, industry, sagacity, and kindness, he 
raised himself to eminence and opulence. His life illu8ti-at«s 
how much knowledge a man of observation may acqnire without 
books. He attained distinction by two things^— the observance of 
truth in conduct and of experience in practice. He was known 
from the firat as a man of veracity and reflection. From being a 
draper's assistant, ho became a manager of cotton milla at 
Manchester. Ho afterwards entered into the employ of 3Ur. 
David Bale, a cotton spinner of Glasgow, who Iiad mills at New 
Lanark. In due Course, afler the manner of otlier clever herocn 
of romance and real life, he married his master^s daugbter. 



me a partner iu the bueiiiess, autl ultimately owner of it in 
taction with others. Previouflly, Mr. Owen had a. large 
lalion of tliti workiiig class under hiB direction in ]\lanche«ter 
; 1791 to 1799, and a still larger niunher for luauy years 
lirds at New Lanark, where, in 1810, he planned an institu- 
t unheard of before his time, but at which statcBintiu and 
pr^lattiS are hammering now, an " Institution for the Formation of 
Charsoter." He built in it commodious school-rooms (ouu of 
1 !>0 feet by 40) for the separate instruction of persous from 
a when as iiifants they were able to walk alone until they 
I intolligent. What School Board now, half-a^ceutury later, 
t a town rate to aid it, would venture upon such Bpaoioos 
isioa for little children t These proceedings being too far in 
ilice for his money-wishiug partners, they differed with Mr. 
1 about it, and the building was aufiptiided when the walls 
p half up. In 1814, he separated from tliese school-feaiing ool- 
I, and made arrangements for now partners, and purchased 
f- whole establishment. Assent to his measures for the im- 
provement of the population, and the finishing of the institution, 
were tlie conditions on which he accepted his new allies iuto 
larship. The new institution was completed, fitted up, and 
ihcd in the year 1815. On the first day of the following 
I) namely OQ Januaiy 1, 1816, the " Institution " was formally 
K-'d. amidst an .assemblage of all the adult villagers with 
f children, exceeding two thousand in number. There were 
t also the principal uobiHty and gentry in the ueighbour- 
I with some of the I'.lergy of various denominations. The 
nbi present were astonished at being called upon to send their 
I to school the very next day. This was the first infant 
tol ever eetabUshed. Lord Brougham (then Henry Brougham) 
il it twice. It was by Mr. Owen's aid in supplying to tham 
wra tliat Mr. Brougham. Mr. James Mill, and others, were able 
t the first iufant school set up in England in Brewer's 
I, Westminster. The first httle scholars met there iu Feb- 

» iu these kindly and skilfully devised and long-continued 

Iperativti anungemeuts, for uniting intelligence \vith industry, 

BiuduHtry with working-class competence, that Co-operation, as 

Jlcticat scheme, was first generated. Of comse, it was not at 

Bontsot a very definite contrivance, nor was it self-acting, as 

■faflequeutly became. It was at first an administration by the 

^Iful manufacturer who planned it. It was partly a bene- 

I but mainly a wiJl-considt-red economic device, The 

X)r wanted to see in hie work-people more skill, tfetter 

t, and unproved contUtiou. To attain these ends, he knew 

t bo difi'used among them iuteUigence, and tliij cuet of 



imparting thi.i iiitclligeiioe lie bi^IJeved wouWl 1mi rijfiiiKledtiy 
oommoreia! i-fBults. He a«ted nn the principie that intelKgenee 
would prove a good iiiventinMit. It did prove so. mid thna it 
cainc to paes that education of members haa always been deemed a 
part of the Co-operative Bcheine. among those who understood it. 
Though Mr. Owen earned an honourable name for benevolence, 
ho was not a man who played at philanthropy. The working 
people among whom he foimd himself were in ignomnca — 
(WciousnesB begot of distrust, precaiiousness, and discomfort) — a 
sorry eet. Theii- great employer's object was to show thera how 
nutch could be done by mutual arrangement to improve thoir 
eonditiou and prospects. If, like all ignnraiit persons, they did 
not care for knowledge for themselves, they would see it was 
good for their tOiildren, and would care for it fur them ; and Mr. 
OAven pro\-ided it; and the attractions of the Bchool-room in the 
appliances for teaching, antl in the extent and ipiality of what 
wflH taught, have not been exceeded by the prnvimona made for 
popular education in the most generous State in America, andliave 
never yet entered into the imagination of any English minister to 
offer, or of any work-people to ask in Cireat Britain. The weavws 
and their wives at New Lanark, who -witneRsed this more than 
princely concern for their children's welfarp, knew that he who 
showed it meant them well, as was niauifeet also in a thouauid 
acts of then ghtfuln ess and respectful treatment towards them, 
the like of which had never been seoji before — ^nor since iu «ny 
manufacturei^B establishment. Had Mr. Owen lived in happier 
and more appreciative daya-sucii as our own, he would have been 
offered a baronetcy. Howevei-. grateful work-people offered him 
what he was prouder of — their confidence and co-operation, and 
their will and their skill were new elements of profit in the concpm. 
Their good'will, born of their regard for their employer, and their 
skill and honesty in their work, arising from increased intelligence 
and pride, meant money. These were new element* of gain to 
the company, and thus labour and capital worked together as it 
had never worked before ; and thus the foundations of Co-opera- 
tion were laid by ilr, Owen and his associated capilAlists sharing 
vn\\[ the labourers and their families an equitable portion of thfe 
common gnin, of which the portion falling to their employere 
was made greater, and greater than it otherwise could have faMoEI 
by their confidence and co-operation. ^^^H 

These facts were detailed by Mr. Owen in his letter to th^^^H 
newspaper, in 18/14. In the sajne letter, addressing hii^^^H 
friend, who had then become Lord Chancellor Brougllf^^^| 
said — ^^^^1 

" It is, I believe, known to your lordship, that in every point of ^^^^| 
experiraent wait ever so miecpfiHfnl as tliv one I condnctod at N«w^^^^H 



^HPpi It WAS commenced and cootmned in oppositioa to all tbe oldest 
'imsliuiigcst prejndtraa of mankhid. For twenty-nine years wo did with- 
(nit the necessity for ma^strates or lawyera, without a single legal pimieh- 
ment, without any known poor's rate, without intemperance or reli^oua 
uiimottitiee. We reduced the hours of labour, well educated all the chil- 
dren from infancy, greatly improved the condition of the adult.*, diminished 
■their daiW hours of labour, paid interest of c-apital, and cleared upwards 
flf £300,ttX) of profit." 

Lord Brougham, in reply, stated ia the Ttiniw what he many 
.Toare afterwards repeated in the House of Lords — that Mr. Owen 
HTM the originator of infant bcIiooIb in England. Lord Brougham 
*wd: — 

"I bav« not Uie iea«t hesitation in stating that the infant school 
ssyrtem never would, ia all probability, have been established hut for Mr. 
^>im'B Lanark schools. I most distinctly n>e<jllect Mr, Mill (the father 
^l John .Stuart MUl), Sir G. Grey (afterwarda Chief Jiutice of (Calcutta), 
■aai loyself, discussing fur some weeks what name we should give these 
new Bchodlfi, and . . . after rejecting various names, we fixed upon that of 
inftot achooln. The thing, «a well us the name, was equally unknown till 
then in England." 

Mr. Owen added, in a further letter to the same journal, that in 
1799 he purchased the New Lanark Mills for f RO.OOO, and entered 
upon the premises on the 15th of Augtist of that year; that he 
published a very full and detailed account of the new institution, 
vluch included the infant Bchools, in the third Essay on the For- 
mation of Character; and that a mutual friend of his and Lord 
Broogham's corrected the press for him. It was equally candid 
of Mr. Owen to make this acknowledgment of the asaiirtnncS of 
UriiQ]. The reader is conscious of a vigour and directness of 
■htanent in those EssayB never attained in any other work of 
Ht. Owen'a. 

Cooperation, In its earlier and inchoate forma, traversed a wide 
us*, and commanded respectahlo countenance. Its fei-tile and 
iietgetic founder caused it to be tried in various forms. It was 
Btkb inatigation that Fellenberg commenced an infant school at 
ftrfwyl* which subsequently, uniting industry with education. 
Waine celebrated. Mr. Owen had the sagacity to make, and the 
■"fliienoo to get carried out, nnraerons schemes of social and co- 
"pnttire reform. The self-supporting pauper colonies of Hol- 
*nd were owing to his snggestion. He originated the short-time 
*pt8tion, on behalf of children in factories ; he assisted Fidton 
*i"i money to try his inveuriouB in steam navigation. He pur- 
obucd the first bale of Sea Island cotton imported into England. 
"''''Weiiig at once the future importance to the spinning trade of 
^igland of encouraging the foreign supply of raw material. 
Tho grcnt " Utopian " (as persons call him who, following the 
IwDt of their own facidties, believe nothing which is not conimoii- 
puce) •wtM a practical man. and knew how to make money as 



■well as to agitate great projects. Hie son lias related iiirtanoM 
of tlie splendid recognition accorded to Mm in his day. 

He had, Dale Owen states, *'been received respectfully, and 
sometimes with distinction, by those highest in position ; by Lords 
Liverpool, Sidmonth, Castlereagh. and by Mr. Canning ; by the 
Royal Dukes of York, Cumberland, Sussex. Cambridge, ftnd 
eepecially by the Duke of Kent, her Majesty's father; by the 
Archbishop of Canterbury (Sutton), and by the Bishops of 
London, St, Da^-id's, Durham, Peterborough, and Norwich; 
besidea Bentham, his partner, he was more or less intimate with 
Godwin, Ricardo, Malthus, Bowring, Francis Place, Joseph 
Hume, James Mill, O'Connell; with Roscoe, Clarkson, Cobbett, Sir 
Francis Burdett, the Edgeworths, the statistician Colquhoun, 
Wilberforce, Macaulay (father of the historian), and Nathan 
Rothschild (the founder of the house). He had received as 
guests, a.t his own house at Braxfield, Princes John and Maxi- 
milian of Ruaaa, the Duke of Holstein Oldeubnrg, Baron Ooldsmid, 
Baron Just, the Saxon ambEissador. Cuvier, Brougham, Sir James 
Mackintosh, and Lord Stowell (father-in-law to Lord Sidmonth). 
When he visited Paiis, he took letters from the Duke of Kent to 
the Duke of Orleans (Louis Phillippe), and from the French ambas- 
sador to the French minister ; and he was invited to the Visitor's 
Chair by the French Academy. In Europe, he made the ac- 
quaintance of La Place, Humboldt, La Rochefoucault, Cemille 
Jourdain, Pastor Oberhn, Pestalozzi, Madame de Stael, and many 
other eminent persons."" 

All these illustrious intimacies show that Robert Owen carried 
Co-opei-ation into good company, and that in a far more radical 
and ambitious form than this generation knows. It was known 
and considered by persons of gi-eat inflnence in Europe, for the 
knowledge or discussion of this subject was the sole reason why 
ihey sought Mr. Owen, or he sought them. 

The gains and economies of the Lanark ^lills bad tuught thent 
that the working class conld, if tliey had sense to unite in it, 
make something by shop-keeping. His practical schemes or 
life were always recommended on the ground of their saving 
anungements. One oven, he pointed out, might suffice to bake " 
for one hundred families with httle more cost and ti-ouble of^ 
attendance than a single household cook, and set free a hundred '' 
fires and a hundred domestic cooks. One commodious wash- 
house and lanndiy would save one hundred disagreeable, scroam- * 
ing, steaming, toihng washing-days in common houst-s. It was 
not far to go, to iufer that one good, well-stocked shop would, 
properly served, supply tlie wants of one hundred families, i 

Jrt Dftla O.von, AtlaalK ,Ww>M/y. June, ISTS, ijk ;Si, T3& 




soperBede twenty smaller shopB, and eave to the customers all the 
cort of the twenty shopmen and twenty ehop rents and rates, in 
adiUtion to the economy in prices and advantage in quality of 
buying wholesale in a way small shops could not compass. 

When the grandeur of Mr. Owen's plans for the reconstruction 
nf Bociety first dazzled the imop^nations of men who sufiered and 
mt'n who thought, hope begat belief that the day of great change 
wiw nigh. Many middle-class men and gentlemen, as well as the 
poor, had a bgusc that society was a mass of confusion and cruelty a« 
firiwcompetition went, and were excited at the new scheme of liftv 
PriuceB, prelates, even monarehs. had lent heeding cars to tlie 
iuBpired Welshman's story of what might be done for the forma- 
tion of the character of mankind if those who wielded national 
influences would use them to thin end. The novelty of the dream 
m over now. Science has taught men that the imprt>vement of 
mankiiid is an affair of a million influeuces and unknown time. 
None now, save the survivors of that pei-iod, can tell the faacina^ 
tioii of that vision of improvement, in which progress was con- 
ndvied to be reduced to a simple problem of State mechanism, of 
which lUl the eonditiuns liad been discovered. 

Thia tireless Newtown Utopian instituted a magnificent publicity 
of Kin Co-operative projects. He made speeches, held meetings, 
published pamphlets and books, bought innumerable copies of all 
iiswKpapers ajid periodicals which gave any account of lus pro- 
wdbga, and distributed them broadcast over the world." The 
"ry day on wliicb he opened his celebrated schools at New 
Lanark for the fonnation of character, he despatched to Lord 
Sidniouth the manuscript copy he had made of all hu said ; so 
•W the Government might have the earliest and most authentic 
faiowledge of what was going forward. Wliere a great Co- 
"peiative Society now spends shiUingsiu diffusing a knowledge of 
"te principles, Mr, Owen spent thousantle and thousands of pounds. 
Jt WB8 this wise, costly, and generous publicity that led the pubhc 
*o attach value to the new social ideas. Mr. Owen may be said to 
■'ftve impressed mankind with them ; for he travelled all over 
Eitnipe, aiid nuvde repeated visits to America, to personally spread 
«le information of the new system of sotiiety which he coii- 
**lopl»tiHl estjiblishing. Simultaneously ^-ith his efforts in Europe, 
ott tpmt a fortime in America, in .endeavours to foiuid coramunities 
loere. But up to 1820, no periodical was started to advocate those 

To the comprehensive plan of reconetmcting society many 
MtumDy objected, as involv-ing a great uiterruptiou to business. 
ftntthe ardent remodeiler of all things thought very little of the 

* B« ^d Ihe fall prion for kII newapaperv be boiisbt, mill tlie pace -ana oonsidunilitc 
•b«i Mil ba posted copiea to ororjr clergjman in llio kiugdoin. 



difficulty. TLinga were 8u bad that few eaw any hope of amea^ 
ing tbeni. The conclusion of most who thought upon the robiBct 
was tJiat of the Uuk boy who. whyn Pope, stumbling, cried out, 
'■ God mend me," answered, " I think, air, God Iiad better muke a 
new one." Political reformers oft fepwated this reply, «ud said it 
was better to make the stumbling world over again, if it could 
poBBibly be done. Mr. Owen had made up Iiis mind to it, and in 
the Economist of that day, the firat of the name, which contains 
the most animated writing which ever came from hie pea, he 1 
announced the resohition to which he bad come : — 

"ThoogU far from entertaining a very exalted opinion of 
powers, yet, from the mere couvietion tbat the duty ought to be. ] 
by fmnie one, however humble, I have hatl tlie boldness in Inke 
thoiildfrs the burden of ficaniining thf \chnh affairs and circfunstiinces of 
kind. The ponderous load is greater tlion I could sustain, b«t that I ferf 
& ?treng:th beyond my own, winch shall enable me to bear it from obscurity 
into the full light of day, where the effulgent blaze tif truth, daited from 
'mtlllous of quick and inquiring eyes, shall finally penetrate and [lervsde 
evety portion of the mass. I summon to my aid all the friends lo 
hnimuity. Woold that I poseesaed the powor to call around me on lb« 
instant the choicest spirits of the earth and tlie sir — that with a nugtc 
touch I could at once dissolve the delusions of error and of prejudice, 
and, awing to obedience the genii of the lamp and the ring, tnrt^rt 
niai^nd, ni a moment, into that new world of delights which is openiiig 
npon my enraptured sight. 

" But I must be content to toil my way through the intricacies of a 
lal)orioU8, though pleasurable work, by the ordinary exertion of bumau 
faculties. Mj- lamp serves but to remind me of that feeble ray erf feaaoii 
and of knowledge which has played npon my mind. My l>eing ie thp 
narrow, darkling circle which boundg and confines my poweia. Yet, if 
that feeble ray be a ray of truth, it shall go forth iticreaaiiig in etetna) 
splendour. If this little circle be drawn from the iinntovable centra ot 
jtfflfice and of wisdom, it shall be extended, nntil it encompass the whole 
earth. If my feeble voice be at first scarcely heard amid the noisy con- 
tention of the world, yet. If it he joined by the full chorus of the auua of 
truth, swelling into the clarion shouts of countless miUtitudes, nod catifbC;- 
with joyous acclaim from nation to nation, the harmoiiiz'mg atrwn £j^ 
resound" through the globe. 

"But I am mdutging in anticipation of joy, before the battle la wnb^ t 
T^e song of triumph must be reserved for the hour of victory. The lyr 
most be relinquished for rthuriel's spear. We lay down the pencil fwr tb' 
pickaxe and the apade. The region ot fancy, with all its gay and glitt«c — ' 
ing fascinations, must be abandoned for the sombre gloom of tliectiristen^!-^ 
grave. We descend into the cavemed mysteries of nature for the iuenl- 
mable gems of which we are in search. A Ve have nut to nm t be career ■ 
genios, but to dig the quarries of knowledge and of experieticv. 
fervour of imagination must yield to the rigonr of phitosuphic "' 
and the flashy coruscations of wit must be extinguished, till. In 
ness which surrounds ns, we steadily discern the first dawn of the 
sober light of reason and of truth. 

" We must strip, then, for our work. We go down into 
where, if my roaders will accompany me, and will assist to p 
strata which have hitherto concealed our treasures, and tq 
__TObW8h — the at'cuniulations of ages — in ' • ~- - - -~ 

r workmen, we shall find the bright 


^'ODchaiited phOoaophe] 

the end. as a philoeopher 

i^nld, to the dreary realities of tlie way whicli leads to a new 
ordtr of pi-ogreeB. But coiomou people catjght the enchantment 
and not the indght of the great dreamer. ' 

Was it poBsilile that men ponr and ardent could decide upon a 
policy aM men may who are at once opulent and cool 1 A new 
worM of hope and pfTort was opening to many eyeewhich hitherto 
had fotiud no outlook beyond the poor-house. Yet those who were 
■ble to think found that each must come to some conclusion as to 
what he woidd attempt. No Englishman can go on dreaming all 
his dsye. The new ttocia) innovator felt that he must do some- 
tliiiig. Th'_' British pnbKc, in business, beliere only according to 
resnltB ; and the eorial propagandiBt eooii felt that he must clear 
h» mind of coiifuaon. and get some definite idea of the course 
before hitu. Should he clear the world, or take it as it is ? Should 
he create new conditions fur mankind, or accept what he finds, 
md work from them to the higher thing he aims at ? Many men 
had never thought at all in a eyst«matic manner on any subject, 
and "Weto prepared to put their trust in anytiiiug new, because 
they were well-nigh sick of ttie world as it was. Others were dis- 
rontented with all things — wore never to be reconciled either to 
ll»e old or the new, and would die in a state of protest. Those 
who haci resolved on action had an alarming leader to follow. Mr. 
Owen, like his French pmtotypcH, was a worid-clearer, though his 
DiethodB were milder. He would make a clean sweep of all exists 
tnginBtitutions. There was a prospect, indeed, of full employment 
for difldplcs of this thorougli-going school ; and a Broom party of 
Bftfonncre was uetually formed, who undertook to sweep Error up 
ud cart it away ; and an enterprising and dimstrous party they 
pwved to be, stancling for a generation in the way of all those not 
Itwnsoltito, but more practical, men who intended to build where 
Ihey could, and with the scant and poor materials which alone 
*n8 at }iand. The day at length came when the most ardent 
piTWed. The world admired, but did not Knbscribe j and it was 
•ft U) chcqoo-less cnthnsiasts to find funds to difftisc a knowledge 
"'tiip new views. It was then that some practical-nunded persons 
'dvimd the formation of Co-operative Stores, where money might 
BOlisde without subscribing it. and proposed tlmt shareholders 
^lonld give their profits to a fund for propagandiem, 

h WBB in 1«21 that the first journal appeared in the interests of 
{^-operation. It bore the name of the Economist. It was thought, 
* 1868, an act of judgment, and beheved to fee an original desig*- 
Mtinn. to takir the name of Social Economint as the title which 
*t«ld best recommend ' to public sentiment a Co-operative 
IXsiotlicaL economy being that commercial feature in which 
Wdety is most readily interested, and which is most easily 



proved as an advantage of Co-operation. Tlie title "waa vn i 
same as the one subsequently adopted by Mr. Jamefi Wilfion, the 
fonnder of the Economist newspaper, who was likely to have seen 
Mr, Owen's publication ; for there was much early knowledge of 
Co-operation in the house in Essex Street, where might be seen 
piles reaching to the ceihng of Mr. Wilson's unsold EconomuU, 
before it became the organ of tlie commercial classes ; and Mr. 
Wilson had ample leisure left him to wonder whether they would 
ever make up their minds to buy it. The first number of Mr. 
Owen's EcoTtomitt appeared in January, 1821. It was preceded by 
a prospectus, after Mr. Owen's manner, as elaborate as an essay, 
and as long as a pamphlet. The title-page of the volume declared 
that the ^Jrowonwatwas" a periodical paper, explanatory of the new 
system of society.aud a plan of association for iraproviug the condi- 
tion of the working classes during their continuance at their present 
employment." The time was clearly foreseen when an entirely 
new order of things would take the place of that then existing ; 
but in the meantime temporary impruvement vr&& to be attempted 
in the condition of the ■' working classes." " Working people " 
was the better phrase Francis Place used in hia addresses to them- 
lu the very first number of this Ecoiwmist mention was made of a 
" Co-operative and Economical Society," which is the earliettt 
record of a name now bo familiar to the public car. There was 
no want of emphasis m announcing the discover^' of Co-operation 
when the idea had taken a definite form in the minds of ita 
originator and liis friends. For some time the public had been 
told, in abounding phrases, that human affaira were henceforth tu 
be based on some new principle, to which no definite uana 
was given. It does not appear whether anybody Iiad asked whnt 
it was, but there was a general expectation that the improvers of 
the social state would soon hear of something to their advantage - 
At length, one day U) the autuimi of 1821, the edit^jr of tixt:a 
Ectmomiit broke in upon liis readers with an air of importance 
and small capitals, and said to them, " Tim Secret I3 Out : it m 
imrestrained Co-OPERATlON on the part of All the members £<oi 
Every pmpose of social life."" Undoubtedly this was l»Tg| 
intelligence. There was _ no want of comprehensiveness in 5t# 
Co-operation of this description looked a long way forward, a^^dl 
spread very far around. Clearly it meant communism, a-^rf' 
whoever expressed it in the words quoted knew very well wt^Jii , 
he meant, and SJiid it in well-chosen terms, never used subis^ i 
■quently, and never in those days improved upon. It was a ve- iy 
small, eager, active, manifold thing, which issued in the name t^ f 
Co-operation, then for the first time distinctly announced, but 
during the next ten years it spread wondrously over the, I 
* E<v>non'isl. AngTiat 2". 1M:?I. 



I^ waa some joume_vmeii priiitere in tho Strand, of whom Heury 
Uetberingtoti was out-, ■who commenced tlie first Co-operative 
ftKae tyin 1821. They took a motto from Miltuii of singular fitness 
Vox modest and adventm'ous purpose — 

" Our grentnoM will Bppenr 

Thpo most conipic^uouii, Khpn gretX thEnqs of dmnll. 
U»b[u1 of hurtful, prosperous of sdvone, 
Wo can oreato." 

The terra Co-operation was at first, and fur ecveral years, 
used in the sense of commnniism, as denoting a guncrol arrange- 
ment of eocii ty for the mutual bcinefit of all concerned in eofitaiuiug 
it. Later, the tenn Co-operution came to be restricted to the 
humbler operations of buyijig and selling pm^-itunns. From 
implying concert of life in conimnnity, it sunk into meaning 
concert in shop-keeping. It seems now, as it seoraed then, a 
riflicnloafi tiling tliat the comraencemeiit of tlie refonnation of 
the world should consist in opening a cheese and hnttor shop. 
It was a great descent from the imperial altitude of world-making 
to stoop to selling long sixteen caudles and retailing treacle. 
DonbtlesB, if we only knew it, the beginning of civilized society 
WM not less absurd. There were, in all probability, dreamers 
who stood on the verge of savage life, and contemplated with 
[loetic exultation the splendid future of civilization, when men 
*lionld abandon their reckless and murderous habits, and master 
niethods of thrift and peace. And when that new order of life 
wgan, which is now described as the dawn of civihzation, there 
nmst have been persons with a fine sense of contempt, and words 
"frfiftrp iTdiciile for those petty hoards and miserable transactions 
^f bftrter, out of which capital and commerce grew, which have 
oially covered the earth with palaces, and raised private indi- 
^Wnals to an optdence Burpassing that of monarche. Had theri' 
***ea, in those days, leading articles and re\news, parliaments. 
**d reporters, and political economists, who see nothing iu 
•*'oiiian destiny save supply and demand, how these Utopians, who 
**wnglit about modern society, would have been held up ti> 
^eriaion, and have been glad to hide their confused and abashed 

In a way that the originator of Co-operation never foresaw, a 
practical part of his views was destined to obtain a strange 
^•ceiidency. Who would liave dreamed that flannel weavers and 
wnkers, shoemakers, and cotton-spinners of Rochdale, noisome 
*lUi WAX, and carbon, and oil, who recommenced their petty and 
*™nrd stores in 1844, were founding a movement, the voice of 
*nioh would pass like a cry of deUverance into the camps of 
todoBtiy throughout what Sir Charles Dilke calls all " English- 
^>Mting peoples ? " Who dreamed that these obscure mechanics 


who had no means bnt pence, and no sense but common; aesis^ 
would, in 1872, cause eveiy shop-keeper, in eveiy high sirMtoi 
every town and city of the- British- empire, to scream vnSai an 
imknown dread, and cry to Members of Parliament, oad cMwd 
the oflSces of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, praying to be 
deUvered from the deluge of Co-operation which they suppose 
threatens to submerge them? This new power of industry, 
which has grown up in this generation, Mr. Owen no more 
constructed than George Stephenson did that railway Gfystem 
which a thousdnd imforeseen exigencies had suggested, and a 
thousand brains maturecL But as Stephenson the elder made 
railway locomotion possible, so Owen set men's minds on the traok 
of Cooperation ; ^d W and need. fi»lare and gain, Mti. «>d 
thought, and the good sense and devotion of muMtudee, have 
made it what it is. 

George Jacob Holtoase. 

I '■ 


MR. MAX MULLEB has mado us all tolerably familiar with 
the expreefiioii --gun myth," la throwing out his hrilli&nt 
hints towards a reconi^deratioD of many queationa toucliinji^ the 
origin of mythology, he was ltd to dwell almost exclnsively on 
tiioae myths which arise from the daily course of the smi through 
IiesTen. This was a coufiiienK'ut of view, though perhaps, uoder 
the circumstance B, a necessary one, and has caused many paople, 
*o whom the study of compai-ative mythology was a novelty, to 
*QpI>oee that this series of myths began and euded the whole 
subject, We thus find many people speaking of the "emi-myth 
'heoiy," or even of the " dawn-myth theory," as if these c^ies* 
Ions wore syuonymous with the science of Comparative Mythology. 
't is nther to be regretted that, when Mr. Cox came to treat the 
■libject in a more complete, or, at any rate, in a more lengthy 
"**aDner, he should have followed too closely in the steps of his 

In India and Greece the most important of all natuml phe- 
^*nena is tlie sun, and the most interesting event of the day 
"*« course through heaven ; if, then, Mr. Max Miilier has laid such 
f*<s(;ia] Btreas on the myths arising from this phenomenon, it 
*^« doubtless with the object of giving etnphasis to the true 
'^deretanding of the nature of a myth. And this true nature 
^^y be best expressed by saying what a myth is not. It is not, in 
"*e first place, the story of the adventures of a fabled being, to 


■whom lias been given (aa in Bome Cabinet Council of Olj-mptB 
tbo portfolio of the sun, of the \i-ind, mr of tlie sea ; still lete is it 
an allegory, in which the workings of nature are told uuder the 
guise of a pretty tale 5 but it is a record of the observed phe- 
nomena of nature— that is. of /act& which are as Irue now as they 
were then, but with that added personality which it must have 
been as impossible for our ancestors to separate from these appear- 
ances in their thoughts us we know it was in their language.* 

We thus see that myths may arise out of any of the appear- 
ances of nature which are strong enough to take fast hold of the 
ima^nation. If the sun plays by far the largest part in the mythic 
dramas of India and Greece, in northern countries his importance 
is rivalled by that of the wind. Sitting, through the long nights, 
under the boughs of their primeval forests, or by the shores of 
their stormy seas, it was natural that the sound of the wind should 
bo a strong spur to tlie fancy of our northern ancestors, and should 
have given rise to many curious myths, 

Odinn hiraself. the chief god of the northern pantheou, beat? 
most of the attributes of a wind god. His name comes from tlie 
verb vadktL,f " to go," or, Hke the Latin vaJere. especially " to go 
quickly, to nish." One of Odinn's favourite by-names is Gangleri. 
"the Ganger;" and this, too, is his chai-acter, that he is alwayn 
wandering over the world, and having adventures with men. }^a 
threo possessions are his sword, his mantle, and his horse, Sleipntr. 
With the first we have here nothing to do. The second, which cor- 
responds to the tarn ktippe (cap of concealment, from (cmcH) of the 
Nibelungen Not. and the iriahittfi-hat of the later folk-tales, aa well 
as to the helmet of Hades and the petagos of Hermes, is doubtless 
the darkness — what ilacbeth calls the " blanket of the dark." It 
belongs to a larger part of Odinn's nature than as a mere wind 
god. to that part in wliich he approaches the character of Zeus, 
as the heavens, or the all-containing atmosphere. Saxo, in lus 
" Historia Datuoa" — wherein the mythological beings of the Eddas 
reappear ns seen thi-oiigh medieval glasses, in a quasi-historical 
guiso — tells us how, when a certain Hadding, a favourite of 
Odinn's, was wounded in battle, Odinn came to his help, wrapped 
him in his mantle, and carried him home through the air ; and one 
of Saxo's commentate irs discusses whether Odlini did this by the 
help of the De^^l, or M-hether Odinn was himself the Princ< 


* Thin in, I think, the itetinitioii of a mytfa. whifih is >lKn)rK iuipliinllf hIo| 
tboie pntrisrcbn dF compiratire niytiiotoiiy, GHmiu and Wclcbor. Mr, Mux Mlul 
Kl^sn it K new lorea by tie li^t wLioh a wmipleter irtddy of the A.rysB Imgunll 
biMD abiB to iilitd. Hu somatimeB, il must ba confesMd, rillier obwuros liit Babj«4li|| 
■peskintt of lunirUDgd too luuch ii<t if it hod nn indoppndcnt i^ontb, apart from th« 
IbonghU of iboiD who oinployod it. 

t Tha luun* comri dlriKtly from tho prflt. rodh or odk. I* Dol this to eXpnM iji 
rspid motion, in tho sama way oi wo Hnd in Opeok luoli on oxprouion *■ t VM' 


TflttSSBT AVe know how that riding throiigli the air was one of 
the peculiar powers of witches, and we shall see, when we come 
to diecusB the myth of tlie Valkyriur. Odinn's "shield maidens." 
that these Valkyriur were the ancestresses of medieval mtohea. 
In popular tales this mantle reappears as the '■ wishing-cloth." or 
the " magic cloth," so iamihar to all readers of fairy-stories, whicli 
has ori^iially the power of transporting the possessor Kkertver 
he wishes, and afterwards of giving him whafevtr he wishes. Of 
this we have an interesting example in one of Abjorasen and Moe's 
Norse Folk-tales." Here the hero goes to the North Wind to 
get back some meal which the wind had stolen. 

•" So off he went, but the way was lung, and he walked and walkei! ; but 
at last he came to the North Wind's house. 

" ' Good-iiay ! ' said tlie lad, ' and thank you for coming to see us.' 
" ' Oiwd-day,' ai^wered the North Wind, for his voice was loud and 
£nilT, ' and thanks for coming to see me. What do you want .' " 

" ' Oh.' answered tbe lad. ' I only wialied to ask you to be an good as to 
■«t me have back that meal you took from me on tbe safe st«pa, for we 
fcaven't much to live on ; and if you're to go on snapping up the moreol we 
2aaTV, thereH be nothing for it but to starve,' 

"•I haven't Rot your meal,' answered the North Wind ; ' but If yon are 
iMi snch need, I'll give you a cloth which will get you everything you want 
Lff you only say, ' Clotli. spread yourself, and serve ii|> all kinds of good 
«iubee ! ' " 

•HTus present ia unfortunately stolen from him by the landlord at 
a where he sleeps on his way home, and a like fate befalls 
be North Wind's second present, a ram which conld coin golden 
'wcats ; but they are both recovered by means of a stick which, 
when you say, * Stick, stick, lay on,' lays on till you say, ' Stick, 
^rfciek, now stop,' " with which tlie hero beats the landlerd till he 
V»a»8 restored cloth and ram. 

The especial interest of this storj- lies in the fact that the part 
oC Odinn is here played by the North Wind, ^^'e shall afterwards 
•-^e other instances of the way in wliich a nature-ra;i-th may lie for 
fc long time, as it seems, dormant and hidden, aiid then spring into 
lrf*e again, or. bo to say. step back again into a state of nature when 
>■ c^raoter ia found to suit it, 

Odinn'a eight-legged horse Sleipnir, " the best of all horses," is 
tl»^ wind purely and »imply, which, it is to be remembered, Odiun 
« not. The story of his birth is thus told in the younger 

** Once upon a time, when the town of the gods was a-building, when 
™^ sods had set Midgard and made Valhall, there came a certain smith, 
**<J bid to make them a burg in three half-j-ears so good that It should be 
•'^lo and safe against the Rimsgiants and IXillogres, though they should 

• "SonVa FolkB-evoBtrt" TrowkWd by Dr. Dsseot, with tba title of "Populnr 
"*»*• Ifoni tiio NotBo. " 
I ^ Dwonl'i tnmslnlioii. 



ootne in by Hidgard. Bnt he asked for his bira that he shoiildjl 
Freyja^ fcr hi* own, and (bemde) he would' have the Sna'i 

This the gode after consultation grant. 

" But if aught of tlie burg was undone, then his bargain should t. 
and (beside) he should get help of no man towards the work. And t 
they had tdd him these terms, then prayed he that be might have helpU 
his hoi-86 who SvaUtilfdri (i.e., 'Snowbringer ') bight; and by Loki'srede 
that was also granted to him. Ue set to woi'k the first day of winto' to 
make the bm'g, but by night he went to draw stone for it with his horse ; 
but it seemed a groat wonder to the Asa how great etoces that horse drew, 
and the horse did one-half more of the tjMtscnne work than the smith ( bat 
to their barg^n there was strong witness and moch swearing, for that ii 
seemed not safe to the giant to be among tlie Asa truc«less if Thorr Q 
home i but then he was faring eastward to figbt IVolla." 

Ajid so the gods threaten Lold with death Tmlesfl he invmt 
way to stop the building. 

" And the same evening, whim the smith droT« out after stone wit| 
horse Srathilfori, there ran out of a wood a mare t» the horse, and d 
at him : but when the steed laiew what kind of horse that was, tl 
grew mad and burst asunder the rope, and ran to the mare, and she away 
into the wood; and the smith after them, and Will catch his horse; bnt 
these horses ran- all night, and the smith tarried there the night, and 
afterwards at dawn so much was not smithied us had been wont l>eFore. 
And when the smith sees that it will not be ended with the work, then falls 
he into the giant-mood. But when the Asa saw surely that it was a hiU- 
ogre that had come m thither, they sjared net for their oaths but ealled em 
Thori' ; and quick as thought came he (and) next of all lifted tiie bammer 
Miollutr aloft, and so paid the smith's hire, and not with the Sun and 
Moon ; but forbad him even to dwell in Jolimheim ; and that was easHj 
done by the first blow, that broke his slcull into small bits, and s ' "*" 
beneath under Nitlhel. Bat Loki bad run such a race witb i 
that some time after he bare a foal ; it was grey and had t 
and that is the best horse with gods and men." 

This is a distinct and c\inoiis tdnd myth, in whidi we< efttal^ 
recugniKe Svathilfbri as the north wind, who with the help of the 
giaJit winter, can pile up an insurmountable barrier of ice and 
enow. Loki has generally been considered in this m^lh to be the 
warm wijid of the eoutli.t Ilis name means fire (lo^); and "why 
fire ejiould be changed into a wind one does not quite see. Sup- 
posing wind to be intended by the horee-natare, LoU'e assinuiDg 
this form must mean heat entering into the wind, fai^f<}tohed 
though the idea seems. When we come to examine another n 
myth, that of Iduu, wc- shall again see Loki as the warni i 
bringing the return of spring. 

This myth of SvatJiilfori is no doubt the origin of the' 1 
stories of •■ master-bmlderB," or " the devil as builder," 

t was easHj 
Lud smt^O^^ 

1 eighii^^H 

• The godd«n of ipring nad of love. Bttl no di 

t Simrook, ■' H»Ddbiicb der DoQlschpo Slylhologic." 3rd od, p. 5*. 

^Tl^Iologqe Cathedral legend is the best-know« example. These 

faTes are, indeed, ao common that there is scarcely a cathedral or 

pid church in Germany wliich has not its peculiar legeud. The 

best connecting Unk between such stories and the mj-th we have 

jiiat been relating is found in the legend of the buUdiog of Dron- 

theim Catliedra!. St, Olaf had vowed to build to God the largest 

cathedral in the world, and while he was pondering how tlie work 

should be set a-going, there came to him a ceiiain builder who 

promiBed to build him such a church if he might liave as liis 

reward the sun and tlie moon, or else the person of the king, unless 

Oiaf can discover the name of tlie builder. As the work is almost 

completed, Olaf is wandering disconsolate among the hills, when 

inride one of them he hears a mother quieting her child, with the 

words. " Hush, hush, tb-morrow comes back father Wind-and- 

Weather, and brings trith him the sun and moon, or else King 

Olaf himself.'' Then Olaf returns to the church, and finding it 

JBst coraph'ted, he calls out to the giant. " Vind och Veder 1 d« 

^»»r(*H^t epiran sneder" (Wind-and- Weather, you've set the steeple 

jiwtt), (t otherwiBe, " BlUster. BKiater. satt spiran vaster " (Blast, 

t>l«8(^~ set the spire west), and thereat the troll falls down aiid 

ZnirstA Here the maBter-builder, as Odinn in the talc of "The 

^lAcl isio went to the North Wind," reappears in a piu-e nature gnrb^ 

. -•-" TSepp 18 a modem Greek folk-tale of the lady Aphrodite, who 

■»■ wooed by two neighbouring kings. She dare not give a re^ifittl 

^Trt either, but she imposes tasks upon them. To the one she likes 

*-«'hc lirderB to find her water on the Acrocorinth, where she is 

^•^niltUng a castle ; and to the other one to build h<.'r a castle on 

"<*-"liriB Bt^pp eminence. Bnt, alas for her cunning! the building 

roceeda rapidly while her lover is unable to find water anyTv-liere. 

it»^dy the palace in almost finished : Rtill Aphrodite ia not 

ting to herseh'. She calls to the builder. '■ Come, sit with jue 

^^•hile : is not your task finished I are you not sure of your 

■■^^wPBrdr" The foolish knight allows himself to be beguiled from 

fc»-ia work, and in his intoxication forgets that it is not already 

Sjnished. Meanwhile, his rival redoubles his efforts ; at length the 

t-<»«k is pierced, and the disappointed builder finds out tod late 

t-Vie trick which has been played upon him. Here we see the 

wftaaTacter of winter, stopping the streams as well as piling up the 

^*>* and ffliow. Aphrodite is of course Freyja, whom she iniich 

'■^^■erables, and the favoured knight ia the summer. M. Georges 

t*errot, who relates the story in the Rn-Ue Ai-chiolagique for 

^8ft). professes hi ma elf unable to explain its oiigin. We ahall be 

"lolined to attribute to it a northeni birth. 

Mounted on Sleipnir,and equipped \vith sword andjaveUn, Odinn 
"•ight often be heard on those northern shores riding to the chase 
t'l- to tlie battle-field, and accompanied as he always was by his 


Valkyriur,* who, like Mohammad's hourie, choose out from i 
Blain those who are worthy to hve with them ui Valhall, the abode 
of heroes. The deacription of tlieee maidenB in one Eddaio f 
poem leaves little doubt of their origin : 

" Three traops af maidens, 
ThoDgh ona maid [oremoBt rode, 
Their horsee shook tbeiDsslTeB, 
And from their numae there fell 
Dew in the deep daleB, 
And on the high tmeB hall.' 


From which we may conclude that these Valkyriur were 1 
clouds mounted upon their steetla, the winds. 

It is woiih while to pause a moment over these " cloud 
maidens," for they belong not to the northern mythology alone, 
but to every Aryan myth-flystem, and even to some which are not 
Aryan. Besides being " shield maidens," they are also " swan 
maidens" — that is, they have the power of changing themselvee 
into swans. If these Valkyriur were tho only mythological beingB 
to whom this power was given, we should have no great difficulty 
in ascribing to this particular feature of the myth a very ^mple 
origin. We might suppose that the voices of wild swaus, or of 
any wild sea-buds — for swan must ori^^ally have meant any bird 
that could amim — in gi^-ing intensity to the sound of the wind had 
^ven rise to the myth of the awan maideits. But this cannot be 
so, for the same notion runs through the whole Aryan mythic 
lore, and often without any connection with the wind. One of 
the earUest Instances of this idea occms in the stcuy of Urvaei and 
Pururavas in the Yagur Veda. This stoiy. without doubt the 
parent of Apuleiua' woll-kuown story of " Cupid and Psyche," as 
well as of the still more famiUar " Beauty and the Beast," relates 
how an immortal woman falls in lore with a mortal man, but 
makes it a condition of their imion that he shall never see her 
against her will, or without her royal garments on. This condi- 
tion he breaks, as Psj'che disobeys Cupid, and he is thus for a 
long time separated from his bride. One day he chances to bo 
wandei-ing by a lake on wliich Urvasi and her companions are 
playing in the shape of birds, 

•' And Urvasi said, • This is the man u-itli whom I dwelt so long.* 
Then hor friends said, ' Let us appear to him.' She agreed, and 
they appeared before him;"} and Urvaa and PniTiravas a 
length again united, 

Mr. Max Mtiller gives us the best reasons for believing ia 
be a "dawn inj-th," wherein is portrayed the se^aratioii ( 

" "The ohoowrs of tlio elocl," from I'o/fOorm. Wnhtj "eholea," (ram wljcji 
rWr^sbero" (tlia uute waiil wlifcb oeonra m Vnlhsll), oud tkuit ■■ toetieftni" 



l«3ig;ht of dawn from the sun (wiiioh is fomiiiinc herej, and 
their reuuion at the end of day. I thiuk, then, tlutt by tie birds 
rjioc the lake art^ meant the cloudB at simset, whlcli often conceal 
the face of the bud. 

Now, one of the Eddaic pot-ms relates how a certain Viiliuid, a 
mighty Braith (the origin of onr Wayland Smith), and his brothers 
:tfnd three Valkyrinr bathing by a lake, who have left their 
.ewana' plumage on the shore. Volund and his brothers seize 
-tiu^e swans' dresses, and by bo doing compel the Valkyrinr to 
fcecome their wives. After a while, however, the swan maidens 
T*e«ame their birds' plmnage and fly away, never to be seen 

This story is reproduced in a modem Swedish popular tale," in 
■^which the hero is set to watch at a certain spot, and, just before 
^^mrise, three doves descend, and presently change into three 
l>cautiful maidens. In the story of the Six Swans in " Grimm," it 
-**^!lbcremembered that their transfomiation takes place at «««- 
jg^ix BO that both these stories retain a recollection of the old 
—" dawn myth." 

It is unnecessary to multiply stories in which the same idea 
st-ppears, cepecially as the subject of swan maidens has already 
been treated, both by Mr. Baring Gould and Dr. Daseot. Two 
ixuAances, however, are worth mention. One, an Irish legend, in 
v«?"liich, instead of birds, we have mermaids transformed into seals, 
slixows how the character of a tale gets more or less altered as the 
p«3ople to whom it belongs sooner or later left their old Aryan 
liotne; and the second, a Persian folk-taIe,t wherein a merchant 
constrains a Peri by seizing her clothes while she is bathing. 
sxxflicieiitJy shows the wide area over which tliis class of stories 
Was spread. 

A% this mj-th is transformed in Christian times, Odinn appears 

as the Wild Huntsman, who is either a fiend or a damned human 

"ouL or as the Wandering Jew, and the Valkyiiur are turned into 

watches. In Saxo Gramraaticus' account of Baldur and Hother 

(op Hiidnr) some wood maidens appear, who, th<»ugli they partake 

niOBt of the Valkyrinr nature, are evidently in a transition state. 

Thetti is tine scene especially, where Hother meets them in a 

f*r*«l;-cave, and tliey advise him how he may kill Baldur, if he 

obtmii tlie food made from the spittle of serpents, wliich reminds 

ns 8tmngely of the witches' caldron in " JIacbeth." It is curious 

t« reflect on the metamorphosis which has changed beautiful 

watrior-iuaidens. who scatter from their horses' mnnes "dew in 

ll»e deep dales, and on the high trees hail," into old liags riding 

Ui the Witches' Sabbath on broomsticks. It is not imlike that 



which has created the hideous Ogre of onr uureery tales" out id 
metaphor oirapae Orcu«, such as -we find it in Horace's lines:-* 

"Nolla temBQcertior 
Rspncig Orel Bns destinutiL 
Aolft diTitem nuinet, 
(I I Harem." 

AiVTien a bird occufb in the EddaB the wind is g 
The northema imagined the wind to be caused by a giant called 
Hraesvelgr ' (corpse-devonrer), who sitB at heaven's end in eagle 
plumage. We may compare witii this notion the Kkeness between 
the words aquila and aquilo, " the north wind."t The name of the 
giant bBows the sad experience these seaffaring people had of thfi. 
effectB of the Tvind, and the Sirens may, I think, be most n 
interpreted in the same way; go that their enticing mnsio uA 
soft sighing of the wind, bo often t!ie pielnde to a storm. 

This Hraesvelgr seems to reappear under another name inT 
myth of Idnu and Thiaaai. Thiassi (whose name cannot be e 
factorily cleared up) carries oEFIdun by the help of Loki. Then 
Lold is threatened by the goda i\'ith death imlesshe bring her 
back again. So he borrows Freyja's falcon-plumage, and fliea to 
Thrymhcim (thunder-home) Thiassi's abode. He fiuda TIumm 
away and Idim at home. Then he changes Idun into the form 
of a nnt, and fliea back i\*ith her, closely pureuod by Thiassi. Ab^ 
however, the giant comes close to Aegard. the gods Idndle a groAt 
fire, into which he falls and ia burnt. Idua, whose name comes 
from the root id, "again," i.vith a feminine termination, means the re- 
turn oT thu year or of the spring. Thiassi is the winter, or perhaps 
especially the autumn wind, as this ia the most thunderous ; and 
Loki must be the warm south wind which is at first in league witli 
aiitnmn to dry up the grass, but afterwards brings back the g 
again in spring. 

These are the principal ^viud myths in the northern ayi 
and if I liavc dwelt on them at some length, it was both boj 
many of them may be unfamiliar to the reader, and because^ 
north is the peculiar home of this kind of laytb. In the otlier 
gicat Aryan rayth-ayetem, the Greek, they fill a iesa conapicaons 
place, and require less attention. An article on wind myths would, 
however, be incomplete ^ntliout some consideration of the 
character of Hermes. Hermes haa often been called an earth god; 
but I do not know any good reason for tJiie supposition. The 
etjTnological significatioiiof his name is similar to that of Odimi'8,t 
and I tliink a great part of his nature may he explained ou tiuk 

' TattliTfldiiisinU, .17, 

t TliQ ooBunon root of (at, Guck uKii), is (urolr not 3 aoScient oxplaiUtloiM 

I Horaics from ifiiAu, " lo move " (vhUntlyJj Odiaa from eaillia (jir«t v 

uc 151 mm, 



flieorjr that he is a wind god« His stealing the cattle of Apollo, 
iiriuchare of coarse the clouds, and his invention of the lyre, are 
the strongest instances, and have already received their proper 
explanation at the hands of mythologists. His title of Argeiphontes, 
a word which, as Welcker * reminds us, means not only the slayer 
of Argos (the night), but also " the bright shining one," of course 
points him out as the bringer-on of day. But this is quite con- 
sistent with his being a wind or air god, as the close connection 
between ^us and ariyua. and between aurora and aura^ abundantly 
testifies. He is, in fact, the breeze which ushers in the day, and, 
by an extension of ideas, he may also be the breeze which accom- 
panies the sunset.t This gives him his first relationship with the 
under or outer world, the abode of spirits, a relationship which is 
strengthened by the connection which our ancestors fancied 
between the soul and the breath, and to which all languages bear 

These considerations may help us to understand his three pos- 
sessions, which have their exact counterparts with Odinn. For 
Odinn and his representatives in the folk-tales often travel with a 
staff having magic powers, such as are possessed by the staff of 
Hennes ; the hat or petasos belongs, as has been said, to the same 
class as the mantle of Odinn ; while the ankle-wings or sandals of 
the Greek god correspond to the horse Sleipnir, but of course 
Bwre closely to the seven-leagued boots of the folk-tales. All are 
fte proper attributes of a god who is the wind not only in its con- 
crete sense, that is, not only as some particular wind, but aJso in 
something of an abstract sense as of air in motion, and thus shows 
8ome of the characteristics of a pantheist's god. 

C. F. Keary. 

* "Griochische Gottorlehre," toI. i. p. 336. 

t The winds which blow over the lE^enn are romarkable for thoir regularity. Erery 
^'BonuBga breeze arisei from the coasts of Throoo, and blows all day southward. At 
•▼eibg it goes down, and for a while the sea is calm; then almost imperceptibly a 
Potb wind springs up from the south. Vide Oartiua " Griooh. Goschichte," ad iniu 

X Hr. Herbert Spencer sees in this connoction of ideas one origin of the belief in a 
^'^ This is a metaphysical question which would require a rery full discussion. I 
*^ toggest, however, that language never keeps pace with thought, but always 
'^^■clkes iti^f to the thought's material side. For instance, we need not suppose that 
^ Ancestors were entirely devoid of ideat^ becausa they very likely called them — as 
*• ttOl do—" things seen." 




THE political opinions of luoBt public men are modified more 
or leee by their views on religion. No doubt some appear 
to be very indifferent to auch an influence, wliiJet others are con- 
Htantly under its control. There are times, too, in our history, 
Tvhen the aggregate effect of this influence is hardly noticed, and 
other times -when it is general and active. In Mr. DisraeU's last 
published writing — the Preface to his Collected Works — ^heaays: — 

" It cannot be denied tliiit the aspect of the world and tbis coontry, 
to those who have faith in the Bpiritual nature of man, is at this time dara 
and distreeaful. They listen to doubts, and even denials, of an active 
Providence ; what is ^yled materialism is in the n-sc-endant. To those who 
believe that an atheistical society, though it may be pohshed and amiable, 
involves tlie seeds of anarchy, the prospect is full of gloom. 

** This distorbanco in tlie mind of nations has Ix-en occaoioned by two 
causes : first, by the powerful assault on the Divinity of the Semitic- 
literature by the Germans ; and, secondly, by recent discoveries of sdenoe-^^ 
which are hastily supposed to be inconsiHtent with our loug-received am— — 
victions as to the relations between the Creator and the created." 

He has also announced his conviction that a great contest ii 
impending between ecclesiastical influences on the one hand, axitc 
hard Bcculariflm on the other, and that theological politics wil 
occupy a prominent place in the immediate future. 

From Mr. Gladstone's recent writings, and especially from fcl»< 
prefatory letter in which he introduced to the British public a f^e'W 
days ago M. Emile de Lavelaye's elaborate denunciation of fcb* 


llica and covert attack on the Anglican Clmrcb, it is clear 
that he concurs in the latter stateaniut of the Pfime Minister. 
and a glance abroad shows that there ie nothing very exceptional 
m English politiciaita thinking ao. The present time therefore 
ma-y not be inopportune for attomptiiig to note some facta 
t>earuig on the relations of ono^ of the religioiis bodies of the. 
empire — the Catholics — to the two great political parties — the 
Libcnils and the Couaervativea. 

In addition to any abstract speculations on this subject of a 
laeJ^ student of hist-ii-y, there are some practical considerations 
ia-w-«lvedinit. England is governed by party. The strength and 
secsxirity of the nation may posaibly turn on the safety with wliich foremost ststesraen at either side may be able to truly estimate 
the relative force of pohtical parties. It might be a national 
e4la.mity if, at some great ciisis, a miscalculation occurred which, 
by embarrassing the leaders of the country, interfered with a 
prompt and firm decision. 

-Ajiother practical consideration, of more immediate interest, is 
ibat the question Baems to throw some light upon the causes that 
iletenuine the rise and fall of rehgious animosity in Ireland. Any 
attempt to expose the source of that long-existing evil, and to 
check it, may be excused — even though the effort be made by 
one "who is not now mixed up in the struggles of party, and who 
no longer the slightest pretensions to speak with the authority 
~ ttitician. 

history of the Cathohcs, in relation to the two great parties 

country, is but little known. Indeed, the ignorance of 

more immediately concerned in the question is remarkable, 

led to many misconceptions. 

origin of our pohtical parties has been traced to tho Great 

That the Cathohcs should have fought for Charles I.. 

Md supported the Church of England agaiuat the Puritans, is not 

■fiapiuring. The faith that is associated with loyaltj- to the crowni, 

Md an aversion to Puritanical tenets, compelled them to do eo. 

wit it was not merely a theoretical question. 

"Ai ilnit. period," says the higlieat living authority on politico] 

i n.' was a Parliameut in DubHu, called by a Protestant Kxug, 

by a Protestant Viceroy, and at that moment there was a 

iiblisliod Cliiirch in Ireland: yet the majority of t.heniombera 

■ ! .iiiifnt were Koman Catholics. The goveniment was at tliat 

!""r- ,.;iirir.,i ..n by a Council of State, presided over by a Protestant 

iJPWj; vet many of tho menibera of tliat Council were Roman Catholicfi. 

^ nmiiidptUities were tben full of lioman Catholics. Several of the 

'^St also were Roman Catholics, and a very considerable uiuulfer rf 

•j'SMtratos wert! Romaa Catholics The King of Kuglund, 

™«igb Glamorgan, entered into a treaty for the settlement of Ireland 
^Jthflie Convention of Kilkenny, in tlie secret, articles of which were laid 
ijhe princifJes upon which tho pacification of Ireland was thon to 



, that tiiey 

take place. Tbe secret articles of that treaty were merely that the Roa^^^ 
Catholics should enjoy the same civil and political equality which they 
had done previonsly to the breakJRg out of the Civil War, viz,, that fliey 
should not be called to take the oaths of supremacy j and, with n * 
to the Protestant Church, that there should be a recognized i 
between the two Churches, These were the articles which Charles J 
his word of honour, ratified."* 

When Cromwell had upset the tlirone. and disendowed ^ 
dieeetablished tbi? Church of England, the Royal standard was 
still kept flying by t)io Iriab CathoUcs, E\'en after the scenes of 
Drogheda and Wexford, and the Catholic army of tho King had 
been scattered, there were stUI numerous bands of loyal men, who 
never submitted to the rule of the Puritan Govcmmi-nt, and who 
maintained a guerilla wari'are till the Restoration. In the wood 
and naountain fastnesses of the south and west, these loyalists sti'U 
fought to the Irish cry of " Tor Re," " Up for the King." 

Dr. Lingard says : — 

'■ It was during the reign of Charles II., that the appellations of Whig 
and Tory became permanently aflixed to the two great political parties. 
The first had long beeng^ven to the Covenanters in the west of Scotland, 
and was supposed to convey a charge of seditious and anti monarchical 
piiuciplea. The second originally designated those natives of Ireland 
who had been deprived of their estates, and was employed to intimatB ,a 
secret leaning towards Popery and despotism." 
He addfl that iu a short time each party willingly adoptef 
respective appellation. 

That most interesting contemporar}' record. Grey's Reports < 
Debates in the House of Commons during the reigu of CliarlcB II.. 
shows that the Puritan Parliament was constantly quaiTclliug 
with the King on account of his attempt to protect the CathoUcs. 
Indeed, no period of English history has been so misrepresented 
as the reign of Charles II.: even Catholic writers have blindly 
copied the AVhig calumnies against the King. A reference, 
however, to the authentic and original documents of hia reign, 
establishes beyoud doubt that be is not open to the uhargej " 
poUtical ingratitude. He, aud the Tory party of the day, iaj 
attempts to serve the Catholics, had to encounter a ■ 
Puritan majority in tlie House of Commons. 

When, in the following reign, the Whigs succeeded in boS 
tuting a foreign sovereign for au Englisli king, the ancient Royal 
standard again sought refuge in Ireland, and under it Sarafield 
defeated the ASTiig iisui-per at Limerick, and exacted highly 
favourable terms for Ins country aud reli^ou. 

To the credit of the Tories it ia to be said that, though i 
destroyed as a political party, they protested against the deliti 
violation by tho triumphant Whigs of the Treaty of Limeriq 

• Mr. Disroeli't spoecbea, apeciuUy cotrooted by bimioH, p. 31. 

■im atB ,a I 



the reign of Anne, Bolingbroke and Oxford were friendly to the 
Catholics, and were abused by the Whig pamphleteers for their 
tolerant policy. One of the Catholic writers on this period and 
that of the early Georges says : — 

" Of the two parties the Whigs were the most implacable enemies of the 
Catholics ; the enmity of the Irish Whigs proceeded from a conscious- 
ness of injustice and a dread of retaliation ; that of the English was the 
result of a spirit of freedom and ill-judged .patriotism. 'Hiey cherished 
liberty as the first of blessings. They abhorred Popery as the parent of 
servile and passive obedience, and viewed Ireland as the rival and com- 
petitor of England. To extirpate the one and keep down the other became 
aprincipal object of the policy of the Whig administration under George I. 
The annals of this reign are stained by frequent persecutions of the Catholic 
gentry and clergy, by disgraceful admtions to the code, by iniquitous de- 
dsions of the courts of law, by unconstitutional encroachments on the 
charter of Irish independence, and by the frequent recurrence of famine." * 

Tear after year, during the long tenure of power by the Whigs, 
laws were passed " for the further suppression of the growth of 
Popeiy," The Act of 1709, which publishes a scale of rewards for 
the detection of Popish bishops, priests, or schoolmasters, and 
made it unlawful for a CathoUc to sit on a jury, was passed at the 
instance of the Whig Lord-Lieutenant, the Earl of Wharton, a 
man whom Swift describes as *' a Presbyterian in politics and an 
atheist in religion." 

In the next generation the free-thinking Lord Chesterfield, so 
often lauded as a Liberal politician, insensible to prejudices, and 
described, even in our day, as a model Whig Lord-Lieutenant, in 
lis speech to the Irish Parliament, urged an extension of the 
Wharton Acts, and suggested, " whether nothing further can be 
done, either by new laws, or the more effectual execution of those 
in being, to secure the nation against the great number of Papists, 
whose speculative errors would only deserve pity, if their per- 
nicious influence on civil society did not both require and autho- 
rize restraint." 

Speculative errors unworthy of notice if their pernicious in- 
fluence on civil society did not authorize retaliation from the 
State 1 Lord Chesterfield is certainly not the last Liberal states- 
man who has said this. 

How strange it is that the words of the insincere freethinker of 
the last century should find so faithful an echo in the utterances 
of one of the most sincere and religiously-minded statesmen of 
to-day 1 But beyond the fact that both were leading Liberals, it 
is difficult to see anything in common between the authqr of the 
famous " Letters to his Son," and the author of the " Expostula- 

It must give sincere satisfaction to every Catholic student of 

♦ 0'Conor'B«*Hiitoryof the Irith CathoUcs," p. 188. 


history to note that the intolerant advice of the Liberal Govenwr 
of IrelflTid was rejected, owing to the arguments and vot«a of th« 
Blsliopg of the Anglican Cliurch. Dr. Siniles says : — 

"The Earl of Limerick, in ITiR, adopted Lord ChesterBeld'a idoa of 
keeping down tlie Catholic religiau, and he brought in a Bill which struck 
at its very root. The introduction of this Bill caused a general constema- 
liou thro'iigliuut Ireland. The bench of Biahojis. however, sti-ougly 
resisted it ; the Primat© opposed it on the third reading in an eloquent 
speech ; three Arcliblabopa and nine Bishops voted against the measure. 
and it was rejected by a majority of two 1 ' 

Nor was tliis the only instance in which the Christiftu spirit of 
the Irish Protestant Bishops tended to defeat or mitigate the 
Penal Code. The journals of the Irish House of Lords show that 
over and over again, the Prelates of the Anglican Church inter- 
posed between their oppressed countiyinen and the Whig philo- 
sophy that kept forging fresh chains for the CathoUcs, Those 
who, a few years ago, drove their successorB from the Hoiiso <if 
Lords, did not choose to remember these facts. On the contrary, 
indeed, groundless historical calumnies were used to compass the 
needless insidt. 

Soon after the accession of George III., says Mr. Charles 
Butler, began the first indication of a tolerant or friendly feeling 
in high quarters for the CathoLcs. Lord Bute and his colleagues 
had many private friends amongst the Catholic gentry. Thoy lost 
no opportunity of discouraging tho vexatious application of tht> 
Penal Laws. Macaulay thus refers to Lord Bute's admiuistni- 
tiou; — 

" A new system of Government came into full operation. For the first 
time since the accession of the House of Hanover, the Tory party was in 
the ascendant. The Prioie Minister was a Tory. Lord Egrenunit, whu 
had succeeded Pitt as Secretary of State, was a Toiy and the son of si 
Tory. Sir Francis Dashwood was a Tory, and had lieen a Jacobite. The 
Koyal household was filled with men, whose favourite toast a fow year* 
before had been ' The King over the water." " 

The Conservative administrations that succeeded Lord Butt's 
maintained, without much public notice, tlie same satififacfoiy 
rehitions with the Catholics, until at length a parliaraeiit«7 
incident of great moment occurred which aroused the keencstrr: 
party spirit on a Catholic question. Though it was tho rea^^ 
prelude to emancipation, it has almost escaped attention, and Va 
littlo known except to those who choose to study for themsclv-^aai 
tlie parliamentary historj" of the country. A century ago a, To"m-q 
miniBtSr succeeded in passing through Parhament a measure ffV»l 
securing tithes to the Roman Catliolic clerg)- in Canada, and, ** 
fact, for establishing by law tlie Roman Catholic rehgiou in tt«^' 
part of the British Empire. This measure was vigomndy op] 
by Mr. Fox. Mr. Thomas Townsond, Colonel Bam-, Mr. T 


; Liberals of the day. The Liberal 
argninento that were tbpn used agauiEt Lord North's Bill appear 
%a !» based on the Bame principle that auiiuateB the recent 
" ExpoBtnlatitin ;" aiid even the riolent lang^iage of the Liberals of 
1 774 is now rcpr<^duced occaaioually by the Liberal member for 
Peterborough, Mr. Fox strenuously "objected to the provimon 
for Becuriog tithes to the Roinish clergy." Throughout the debates 
h© always Bpoke of " the Rumish clergy." Mr. ThomaH Townsond, 
9 baa been described as a model Liberal and a rising hope of 
iberal party of that day, said ; — 

k could not but allow that the noble lord had an amazing foresight 

Vin^. above all days in the year, the 10th of June for tho finishing 

_ . La A Bill to establish Popery. He said the day was truly characteristic to 

tbe tituiitiess, and he made no donht but the noble lord and his party would 

cwili« to the House with white roses* in their breasts." 

\ Bam^ said :— 

y this Act yim establish the Roman Catholic religion where it never 
tahltsbed before, and you only permit the practice uf your own.' He 
r tlio Bill had originated with tbe Lords, who were the Romish priests 
tliat would (jive his Majesty absolution for breaking his promise. Ub was 
certain, hy the noble lord (Lord North) and hts dependents' proceedings, 
tliat aflw their death people might say, as they did after the death of 
King Charles : ' that by papers found in their dosets, they appeared to 
lavo died in tbe Roman" Cathohc belief.'" 

Bt Glynn wound up a long attack on the Bill and its Tory 
Mrs by saying : — 

» 10th of Jane, 1774, would be handed down to posterity as a day 
.-. — H the members of a British House of Commons preferred Popery and 
FrtuDth laws to the established religion and the laws of their own 

% Bill, however, passed the House of Commons by a majority 
Tbe division was a strictly party one, none but Tories 
5 for the Catholics, and none but Liberals against them, the 
B for thu Liberals being Mr. Fox and Mr. Thomas Townsend. 
B other House of Parliament, the great Whig, Lord Chatham, 
I decided in Iiis opposirion to the Bill a« hie lieutenants 

lltpniwiit Lard Hnlifai, vhea in tho Hooso of ComnioiLS about twolva yenrfl Bgn, 

f ToryCatlioUff, on tho 10th of Juno, why Lo wore, on Ihnt particular doy only, a 

toe in hU bntlm-hols ; iddiog, " My gBrdooer in the North of Engluid alirays 

p<I btindng ont Ilia wbito rosoe for tho 10th of June. What ia there poculUr abont 

TIm Tory MJ>. sxplainod that it iraa tho birthday of King Junoii UL ; aDiI 

d tbe Caiblnttt niiniaUir of Lord Chestorfield's oft-quoted iiupTompta M Vba 

fabdy wlM itteoiled tho Drawing Room at tho Castle in 1715, vithwi orange Ulj 

tHj diBplayed on bcr bosom : — 

"Say, loToIy Tory, whoro'e tho jest 
Of wearing oruge on thy brout, < i 

When that broast apbeaiing shon* ^ 

Tbs wbitoHosa of tho rebel loiio ? " 


in the Lower HoHee, His concludiug Bentences, as repoife^^ 
in the Parliamentary history of the time, are as follows : — 

" He exposed the train of fatal mischiefs Bttending the eetabliahmeiit 
of Popery find arbitrary power in that vast and fertile region now aimexcil 
to Qnebec. He deduced the whole series of laws from the supremncy fir»t 
revindicated under Henry VIII. down to this day as fundamentals oui- 
stituting a clear compact that all eRtahlishments by law are tn Ije ProteBtaol. 
He further maintained that the dangemus innovations of thin Bill were ai 
variance with all the safeguarda and barriers against' the return of Popery 
and of Popish influence so wisely provided against by all the oaths of office 
and of trust from the constable up to the members of both Houses, and 
even to the Sovereign in bis coronation oath. He pathetically exprcwed 
his fears that it might shake the affections and confidence of Jua Majesty's 
Protestant subjects in Enghmd and Ireland, andfinallyloae the be»rta of 
all his Majesty's American subjects." 

A member of the Tory Administration, Lord Lyttelton, in 
replying to the great WTiig, argued (as he might to-day against 
the "ExjioBtulation"), "To oblige Catholics to deny the sopreinacy 
of the Pope, was to compel them forcibly to abjure tlioir religion." 
The contrast between the Liberals and the Tories was not confined 
to their arguments and votes. Their very language was oharac- 
teriatic. Mr. Fox, Colonel Barre, Mr. Dunning, Jlr. Townsend, and 
the other Liberals, spoke of " Romish clergy," " Romanists," and 
"Popery;" Lord North, Lord Lyttelton, and the Tories, spoke of 
" Catholics " or of " Roman Catholics." The good effect of those de- 
bates andof the Canada Act, was soon seen both abroad and at hom«- 
" Protestant bigotry," says an American writer in 1872, " pro- 
bably lost US Canada, by the anti-CathoHc manifesto issued l)y 
the colonial Congress of 1774." This is, however, a very limited 
view of the subject. Perhaps the anti-Catholic attitude of the 
Republicans may have indirectly assifited in strengtheuiug the 
fidelity of the Canadians, but it was undoubtedly to the natural 
albatice between the Tory priaciplea of Lord North's Government 
and the Conservative politics of the Catholics, whom he wisely 
befriended, that the residt was really due. The piiucipleB of 
loyalty and rchgious reverence associated with the ancient faith 
saved Canada, and prevented any furtlier disruption of our colonial 
empire a century ago. 

But the preservation of what is to this day he finest province 
of the Queen's colonial empire, was not the only result of Lord 
North's wise legislation and conciliatory language. It waa the 
prelude to the first teg^lative relaxation of the Penal Laws. In 
four years alter the memorable debates of 1774, an Act WM 
passed enabling CathoUcs to hold land. The only whisper of 
opposition came from a "Liberal" quarter. Other relaxations of 
the Whig code followed, and year by year the Catholics obtained 
relief till the termination of the Tory Government. 


Tb) sliort Liberal regime that followed, whai tlie Whig patriots 
Jidf office, was not fortunate for the CatholicB either in Euglaiid 

Lord Charlemont and Mr. Flood re-echoed the language of the 
Libemla in England : the llonian Cathohcs were unfit for pohtical 
power because of their arbitrary tc-uete, their principles of divine 
right, and their submission to ecelesiastical influence in civil 
ao^efy; a body that tamely yielded to euch influences required 
uid aothorized restnunt. T^e language of the Liberal patriots in 
1782 was a repetition of the Liberal Lord-Lieutenant's epeecb of a 
pna-ding generation, and a euriouB foretaste of the language 
Keaxd by the present generation from the Liberals of Germany 
auil (if England. A popular historian' thus deBcribes the policy 
uf the Liberal party during their temporaiy triimiph ninety-three 
yeare ago : — 

' IH» Whig TiOrtl Charlemoiit was thronghowt the vehement oppoiieirt 
(fthsflatbolic daitOB. Tbe pntnots saw not beyond themaelvee oii'l their 
orointerepts. Tliey were content atill to keep the Catholica a. slave class, 
IkUldk them to be unfit for the enjoj-ment of freedom. All atfemptJ^ to 
wtW to them the exercise of the elective franchise were treated with 
sa^foofjiy and acorn. Tbe patriots still persevered in maintaining a dia- 
pMefgl penal code, which imposed civil and political disabilities on the 
pit iqass oF tlie people. Surely tliis wa^ a narrow-minded and ooe-sided 

totd Stanhope, in Ins Life of Pitt, also says : — , 

"The Convention of the volunteers at Dublin had two conieudinf^ 
lavlera: first, the Earl of Charlemoiit, and, secondly, tbe Earl of Bristol, 
"ho was also Bishop of Deny. This prelate was son of the famous Lord 
IfciT^, in the days of George II., ana a singular character, recalling the 
fendll bishops of tbe Middle Agea. He proposed to the volunteers that in 
^ Dew Reform Bill whicli they were seeking to frame, the franchise 
KMddbe granted to Roman Catholics. To this proposal Lord Charlemont 
pTB Ms decided opposition, and by far the (greater number of delegaten 
•iifed with Lord Chariemont. Accordingly Flood, as their spokesman, 
l^wght forward, in the Irish House of Commons, a measure of reform for 
'Iw IwneGt of Protestants only." 

^Vith the return of the Tories to office in 1783, the hopes of the 
Citliolica again levived. The contrast between Lord Chatham 
M(i liis Son, between the great Whig and the great Tory, is one 
^ iJie favourite themes of modern historians. No part of that 
"•JHiig cgutrast is more remarkable than their reepoctive attitude 

lliose students of history who follow the growth of Mr. Pitt's 
■Wtiments respecting the CathoHce, from liia own account of his 
interviews n-ith tlie Abbe de Lageard, in the palace of the Arch- 
luihup of Rheims, in 1783, to the indirect support (for tboy had no 

^^^ • Dr. Smile*' " Hiilory o! IreUnd," p. SflO. 


votes tliRniselveB then) the Cathnlic leaders gave him inffift 
deciave elections of 1784, and tf> the time when he applied to the 
Universities on the Continent fov those autUtiritative o^ontJoUB 
of" Catholic principles with which he showed that his clients were 
the beat friends of order and of a Conservative monarchy, cannot 
fail to see that it was no mere temporary expediency, but the 
sympathy of a natural alliance, that created and fostered bis 
Catholic policy. When, in 1791, he carried that which Mr, Lecfey 
truly describes as a far more important Emancipation Act than the 
one of 1827 — the Act which gave the parliamentary frnuchiso to the 
Enghsh Cathohcs — and when, in 1792, he intimated his intention 
of passing a similar Reform Bill for Ireland, which in the following 
year he accomphshed, in spite of the Whig cry that " the minister 
was destroying the ascendency estabHshed in 1688." at that time 
ample justice was done to his high motives by the Cathohcs both 
of England and Ireland, who had direct conferences ^"ith him, and 
who witnessed his successful labours on their behalf. It was left 
to the following generation to find Cathohcs who could attempt 
to underrate and misrepresent his policy. 

" Mr. Pitt," says Mr. Charles Butler, the secretary of the Catholic Asao- 
ciation of the Inst century, " watched over the Catholic Relief BUI of 1791, 
during its passage through the House, with the greatest assiduity : some- 
times by energy, sometimes by conciliation, he removed the obet&clw 
which opptwed it; and he unfeignedly participated in the joy of t' 
Catholics at its ultimate success. For this they were indebted t" *" 
more tUaji to him." 

The language of O'Connell, written half a century 
event, and when the Catholics were in alliance with 
Liberals, is different : — 

" It should be recollected that these concessions were made mi 

thaninfriondship. The revolutionary war was about to commence, tl 

of republicanism hud spread far and near. It was eagerly caugnt 
amongst the Proleataiit, and especially among the Presbyteiian, popuUtliw 
of the Nortli of Ireland. Belfast was its warmest f'K'ua ; il. was the deep 
interest of the British Government to detach the wealtli and intftlligenw 
of the Catholics of Ireland from the republican party. This policy wan 
adopted. The Catliolica were conciliated. The Catholic nobility, gentry, 
mercantile, and other educated classes, almost to a man, separated fmui 
the republican party." • 

That it was not fear that actuated Pitt In making tho conceft- 
sions whicli O'Connell says conciliated the Catholics, and separated 
them from the repubhcans. is e\'ident from the fact that at the 
very time he was maturing and carrying his plans of emancipar 
Hon, he was refusing to repeal the Test Act that jiressed only on 
the Protestant Dissenters. The latter constituted a formidable 
body. Yet in 1730 ho opposed Fox's Bill for their relief; and 

• 0TooD3ir> " MpiDOir of Irolnnd," p. 21. ^^HM 


in lii« tniccPSHftil opposition to it, he was supported by Burke and 
AVilbcrforce. When ht was able to give tho elective franchise 
to the Catliolica by an overwhelming majority, he was able to 
ijrfeat the repeal of the Teet Act by a majority of throe to one. 
Hv repeated iii siibfit-nnce the argument he had used in 1787 : — 

" There an? some Pratestant Disaenters who declare tlial * the Chiiivb oF 
Engtod is a riJic of Poperv ; ' others that ' all Churfh establishiiieiitg are 
iinpmi'er.' This may not be the opinion of tho present body of Dissenters, 
lait B" mewis can l>e ilevieed of adrrutting ibe inoderale part and excludiiig 
tiiB violciil ; Uie liulwtirk moat be kept up against all." 

He treated with intUfference the taunt that he was pushing the 
CflttoKcB ahead of the Protestant Diseentere. Thirty-eix yean* 
■fterwards a dmilar debate, with almost identical language, oc- 
onrrrf. Hie eucceesor of Mr. Fox, Lord John RuBsell, moved, 
Mitldstime eaccessfnlly, to repeal the Test Act. He carefully 
npUined that Iiia Bill relieved only the Protestant Dissentere, and 
ffidnotimig for the Roman CathoHcs; whereupon two leading 
ftmBervBtives, Mr. Hnsldssou and Lord Palmerston (the latter did 
not join the Whigs till five years subsequently) declared their 
Of^podtion to Lord Jolin RusbcU's scheme, on the ground that lie 
KM "nnlairly running the Diaacnters ahead of the Catholics in 
utB mce for toleration." Nor is it quite accurate to say that Pitt's 
Hnancipation measures separated tho Catholics from the re- 
pnbKcan part}'. Thoy had never joined tliat party. Pitt knew 
*ae tnith of Montesquieu's aphorism, *' Tho Catholic religion in 
bttrt Buited to a monarchy." 

That Pitt was reaUy moved by his genuine friendship for a body 
wthwhom he had an intense community of political sentiment, 
con be seen by his own letters and his speeches, as well as by the 
iftters of contemporary Catholics. A striking proof of this is 
Bkcwiflc- to bo found in the ascendency tone of the patriots who 
opposed his Catholic Relief Bill. 

The Liberals '»f Dublin who, under Flood and Charlemont, nine 
ypam before had raised the ciy of " Protestant ascendency m 
ilaiigerl" addressed their Liberal representatives, Henry Grattau 
WtlLord Henry Fitzgerald, against the contemplated cxteuaou 
tft Ireland of Pitt's Act for giving votes to the Catholics. They 

"We entreat of you, our representatives, that you will opjjose with all 
ytwrinfluenee and great abilities any alteration that may tend to shake 
f»MCiirity uf proijcrt? ia this kinfirdom, or eubvert the Protestant aa- 
aodencjr in our happy tonstitution." 

To that address of tlie turbulent and intolerant " patriots " of 
OnWiii G rattan replied : — 

"Mt LoBD Matok AND Gektleuen, — ^Whatever attack bas beon made 
IT ascendency hsia proceeded fioni your ministers. 



" The Roman CatJiolics, whom I love, and the Protestants, i 
prefer, are botli, I hope, too enlightened to renew religious uuimosity- 

" I do not hesitate to say I love (he Roman Catholic — 1 am. a frieiul 
to bin liberty — but it is only inaBmuuh as his lil)erty is entin4y con- 
sistent with your ascendency, and an addition to the atn?iig;tb of the 
Protestant commuatty. 

" These tieiijg' my princijjlee, and the Protestant interest my first 
object, yoii may judge that 1 shivH uerer assent to any measuro ( **' 
to shako the sei:urity of profierty in this kingdom, or tti snbv^ 
Protestant ascendency. • 

" (Signed) HENBr GiuTi 

9Y Grat^^^I 

Looking back upon the past. Catholics can i-eadily pardou 
the Floods and Cbarlenionta, and the convention of Patriot- 
Liberals who struggled in vain against the emancipation policy of 
Pitt. They acted honestly, and in accordance with their lii'e-long 
principles and the true principles of their party. Bat it is 
difficult for an Irishman to forgive the intolerant Liberals who 
induced Henry Grattan to leave upon liis reputation tht- stain of 
signing that answer to the addreRB of 1792. Li using such language, 
Luctis, Flood, aud Cliarlemont in Irelajid, and the Revolution Libe- 
rals in England, were perfectly sincere. But was Grattan siacerc f 
He was right when he said that the only attack that had come upon 
rc-hgious ascendency had been made by the King's minister. Did 
lie not in his heart approve of that attack 1 In fact, he separated 
from the " Liberal Patriots" on thesubject, and supported Pitt's 
scheme ; and in a few years the most scathing sentences that 
were heard in Parliament fell from his lips as he denouoced 
" religious ascendency." 

The first genei-al election iu Ireland after Pitt's Fiiiancipation 
Act of 1793 showed that a vast political power bad been recalled 
to life. Face to face with the strength of Catliolic votes, tha 
anti-Catholic tone of the Whigs began to alter. 

Pitt's subsequent plan of the Union, accompanied by tbo 
adniissiojx of CatkoHcs to Parliament, and the reetoratioD of a 
portion of Church property to the Cathohc clergy, has been 
described by Lord Macanlay as the most beneficent scheme tlttt 
any English minister ever de^■ised forlreliuid. The Premier, "who 
seemed to care for nothing in tljiia world except poHtical power, 
and the honourable fame that follows the faithful discharge yf 
official duty, broke up his Cabinet and resigned when the King 
refused to allow him to complete emancipation and establish 
concurrent endowment. Forced, after a few years, to return to 
office by the grave disasters that seemed to threaten England, be 
died before the brief tenure of his aeoond administration enabled 
him to influence the King. 

The most successful party organizer that the Conaervatis* 
England have ever known has pomted out tbat the medj 


will) succeeded Pitt had no claim to be called Tories. Between 
tin irimupliant Tory party of our day and the Tories of the 
itfgBiniug of tho century, thure is a long interval, filled partly 
ivilli an a diiiinist ration of incapables, and partly with a reign of 
active and diBtingtushed LiboraU. For a brief interval, when 
Caiuibg (Wi ally of the Catholics) came upon the scene, there was 
t ntum to Tory principles. This year Mr. Disraeli has repnblifilied 
ths ruiuarkable Preface he wrote in 1870 to his Collected Works. 
Hm therein announces that " Coningsby " contains the true pro- 
gramiUB nf Toryism, and that it sets forth the real origin and 
Mindition of political parties. 

Thi; sentences in which the present Premier deals ^vith tbeac- 
tnjjiud are amongst the most remarkable and instructive that he 
\m ever written : — 

'■ K we Burvey the tenor of the policj- of the Livori»ool Cabinet duriu^ 

tie latter liioiety of its continuance, we shall find ita characteristic to lie 

ipirtial recurrence to those frank principles of govomment which Mr. 

Ktllwl i^vi\-(<d (luring the tatter part of the last century from precedents 

that LbJ l-een set iis, either in practice or in dogma, during its earner period. 

1^ ^teamen who then not only bore the title, but professed the opinions 

uf TorieB, Exclusive principles in the constitution, and restrictive princi- 

111* in commence, have grcnvn up together ; and have really nothmg in 

cMnoon with the ancient character of our political settlement, or the 

tonocre anil customs of the English people. Confidence in the loyalty of 

tiK nation testi6ed by munificent grants of rights and franchises, and 

i:aim tu .■m fxpansive Bysteni of traffic, were distinctive ijuaJities of the 

■■■i;;nty, until the Houwe of Commons usurped the better portion 

lives. A widening of our elector^ scheme, great facilities 

■ i:id the rescue of our Komau Catholic fellow-subjects from 

""- .'Ij.uijiiu yoke, from fetters which have been fastened on ttiem by 

Kiglwli Purtiiuuents in spite of the protests and exertions of English 

"Wttigns ; these wero the three great elements and fmidaraental tmths 

"f ftp ri^al Pitt. Mystem, a system founded on the traditions of onr monarchy, 

■■ ' ' ffiiui tho writings, the speeches, the counsels of tlioso who, 

! these and analogous benefits,, had ever twen anxious that 

1 if England should never be degraded into the position of a 

■'II f iTi the plunder of the Church that we must seek for the primary 

<^BiB>e uf our jiolitical exclusion, and our commercial restraint. That 

onMrtwcd liooty created a factitious aristocracy, ever fearful that they 

iiiVIli I- ■Jillcd npon to regorge their sacrilegious spoil. To prevent this 

uiire in j>oliticaI religionism, and, paltering with the djsturl>ed 

I he pious fantasies of a portion of the people, they organized 

iLTious sects. These became the imconscious Pnetorians of 

„ ri 'lomuins. At the head of these religionists, they have con- 

tiii\iii,.t i^vLT aini» to govern, or jrowerfully to influence this countrj-. They 

"*"* in that tJme pnlled down thrones and churt^hes, changed dynasties, 

*(wpiled Mid remwielled parliaments ; they have disfranchised Scotland, 

^ oanfi seated Ireland. One may admire the vigour and cimsisteiicy of 

"* ^Vliig party, and recognize in their career that unity of purpose that 

•^ tmly spj^g from a great principle ; but tlie Whigs introduced 

sc>'hrtnn religion, sectarian religion led to poUticjd exclusion, and poUtic«l 

■■"■!"'■. ,r; ',T,Ti Boon at^companied by commercial restraint." 


It ia not surpi-ising that under the administration of such pseudo- 
Tories as Percival and Peel, the CathoUcs of the United Kingdom 
shordd have separated from the Conservative party ; though it is 
difficult to understand how at any time they could have com- 
mitted tlie folly of guiding their conduct by the most pronounced 
principles of Liberalism. As long as the Tory party was broken 
up or disorganized, there was an obvious excuse for many of the 
errors of CathoKc poUticians. But giving them the benefit of every 
excuse, it is still evident that the temporary and unnatural alliance 
between the Liberal party and the Catholic party has compromised 
the principles of the one, and the reUgious interests of the other. 
How diflFerent it has been in other countries ! 

In the United States of America, the poUtical party that seems 
to be most influenced by Conservative principles receives the sup- 
port of the CathoUcs. So it is on the Continent of Europe. In 
France, in Germany, in Belgium, in Holland, in Italy, wherever 
Liberals and Conservatives are foimd, the Catholic party as such 
works with the latter. Not many months ago one of the leading 
Republicans of the United States said : — 

"Of course the Roman Catholic party supports the Democratic or Con- 
servative party because they both favour religious education, and cherish 
in common certain old-world notions which we Liberals have repudiated.** 

The recent triumph of the Democratic party was to a great 
extent secured by the cordial union, for such objects, of the Epis- 
copal Protestants and the Catholics from Boston to New Orleans. 

More than thirty years ago the Catholic party iii France and in 
Belgium gave religious education the foremost place in the 
political programme. They worked side by side with M. Guizot 
and the orthodox Protestants of France, and Avith the Con- 
servative Protestants of Belgium. They have not failed. The 
Conservative reaction in Western Europe, that the Liberals so 
much deplore, is taking a practical shape in the steady growth of 
religious education. The Liberals of Bel^uiu are in despair at 
their failure to permanently establish secular seminaries. Mr. 
Gladstone's literary protege, M. de Lavelaye, in his sweeping 
attack on the Conservative reaction of his own country and of 
France, shuts his eyes to the fact that it is a reaction coincident 
with the greatest commercial and material prosperity. Belgium 
never was so prosperous. The rapid recovery of Fmnce alarms the 
Liberals of Germany. The Bishop of Orleans is justified in saying 
that the Bill for the Liberty of Superior Teacliing, which has now 
passed its third reading in the French Chamber, is the most truly 
Conservative measure of his time. M. Laboulaye congratulates 
the Clmrch that in future the consciences of her children cannot 
be threatened by irrehgious education. 

The Conservative reaction that is doing so much for religions 


education is not confined to the United States or to the Continent 
of Europe. It has saved the remnant of rehgious education that 
was left in Great Britain. The powerful party of the Church of 
England, and the small but compact party of CathoUcs in England, 
made an open aUiance on the 8th of April, 1870, in St. James's 
Hall, when the Duke of Norfolk and the Marquis of Salisbury, the 
Duke of Northumberland and the Chairman of the CathoUc 
School Committee, Lord Sandon, Mr. Beresford Hope, and a 
crowded meeting of the leaders of both Churches, assembled in 
support of rehgious education. They voted together at the 
Parliamentary elections in 1874, and they can now be seen every 
week assisting each other most cordially at the School Boards. 
Hence they have checked the secular poKcy of the Liberals. But 
if the CathoUc prelates of the United States, of France, of Bel- 
gium, of England, have some cause to be satisfied with the present 
state of ftiture prospects of the education question, what is to be 
said of the CathoUc prelates of Ireland ? 

For a quarter of a century and more, the Irish CathoUc prelates 
have actually wielded poUtical power. During all that time they 
never ceased to dwell, either in pastorals to their flocks or in 
petitions to ParUament, on the one great necessity that the 
Catholics of Ireland required — ReUgious Education. 

They described the paramount object to be achieved in terms 
identical with those used years ago by Cardinal Wiseman and 
Father NeAvman, and so often employed by the American, French, 
and Belgian bishops. But though they professed to have the 
same object, they endeavoured to accomplish it by entirely oppo- 
site means. With one or two exceptions, the Catholic bishops of 
Ireland united themselves openly with the great Liberal party. 
The invaluable services of the Tory Father Newman were dispensed 
wth by the Episcopal Board of tlie Catholic University. Cardinal 
Wiseman's published letters, in support of the Conservative party, 
at a general election, were denounced as an undue interference 
with the Liberal policy of the Irish prelates. 

When the Rev.- Justin McCarthy, the parish priest of Mallow, 
proposed Mr. Longfield, a Protestant Conservative, and succeeded 
m securing for him the representation of that borough in 1859, he 
was likewise taunted with opposing the Liberal poUcy of Dr. 
Cnllen and the majority of the Iiish bishops, whereupon the 
parish priest observed : — 

" I am proud, however, to be able to reply that tlie course I have struck 
out for myself has tlie sanction of the highest and most venerated autho- 
rity in the Catholic Church.*' 

But neither the authority of the Pope, nor the intellectual 
supremacy of a Wiseman or a Newman, nor the respectful remon- 



straiices of many independent parish priests, could indnctt w8 
majority of the Irish prelates to break with the Liberal party. In 
auch matterfi they preferred their own authority and their own 
wisdom. With what reenlt * With the result of keeping the 
Liberals in office for many years, and, at the same time, of utterly 
failing to accomplish one single iota of tlieir own religious educa- 
tion programme. No wonder that a Cathoho prelate shotild have 
recently said : — 

" We began our alliance with the Liberals before the Qneon'a Colleges 
were establisbed, with tbcir unaiiimons support and that of the Peelites ; 
when the alliance waa at its height, the model acboola were established by 
them ; and now that the Liberals have broken with ua, we find ouraolvefl 
worse off than when the partnership commenced. In short, we have done 
cvei-ything for them, but they huve done nothing for us ! " 

Though Catholic prelates, whose political influence has been 
persistently expended in promoting the cause of Liberalism, pro- 
gress, and modern civilization, may have some reason to bemoan 
the reeult of their labours, there are in Ireland many Catholic 
Liberals who are at heart content \vith eveiything that has hap- 
pened, except the cliange of Government last year. These are 
honest, intelligent gentlemen, whose i-ehgion exercises littk- ur no 
influence on their pohtieal views, and who. by sincere conviotJOil 
and sympathy, are members of the gieat Libei-al party, They are 
not very numerons in the rural diatriots, but in the oenb«* 
of influence, such as Dublin and Cork, they constitutu a poweifal 
section of what are called the educated Catholics. As politiciaiw, 
they regard the organization tif the Catliohc Church vury much aa 
they do the organization of the Anglican Church. They object 
to ecplesiastical influences in State affairs, bi tho Sfephtun's 
Green Chtb of Dublin some of these gentlemen may be bean) 
enforcing Mr, Gladstone's attack on Vaticanism. Indeed. Mr. 
Gladstone has received from such quarters much more sympathy 
than is generally supposed. 

But it is sympathy not announced to the public. The Catbofic 
party, as such, are indignant with Mr, Gladstone. They began 
by openly charging him with inconsistency and ingratitude. A 
httle reflection, and the good example of the gentle words, bot 
vigorous arguments, that have fallen from the Oratory at BlJ^ 
mingham, have done much to modify the angry tone. They have 
begun to discover that the charge of inconsistency rests rather od 
themselves than on Mr. Gladstone. They have recollected that 
he never lost an opportunity for tho last twenty years of de- 
nouncing Vaticanism ; and tliat his recent attacks upon the 
Syllabus and Encyclical were but somewhat more elaboratu 
repatitiouB of his pubhc utterances in 1868. They now remenn ba— 
that io October, 1868, when he was a candidate for their sup^^^H 

Tas Tony party axd the catbolics. 305 

lie boldly proclauuBd hie views and policy about the Eucyclioal 
ud SyUabiis. It has also oozed out that, in 1870, when he was 
Prime Minister, he gave the Catholic prelates fair notice that it 
adght be the duty of Liberal statesmen to adopt retahatory 
ueomreB if the dogma then under the coneidei'ation of tlie Church 
were adopted. 

On the other hand, Mr. Gladstone and the Liberal party can 
truly say to the Catholics, '• Why ehould you charge us mth in- 
gratitude ? No doubt you kept us in office for many years, but 
(lid we uot give you fair notice tiiat nothing would induce ub tc> 
yield to your rcli^uue education programme? AVe gave you 
plenty of places, more perliaps than yon were entitled to, but 
did we not gratify yoa by Bccularizing Church property, and 
dupriving the famoua University of Dublin of its religious 
character ?" 

Ill fact, the more each side discUHsea the past, the more clearly 
8 permanent divergence is seen between the Liberals and the 
reil Catholic party. But it may be fairly questioned whether the 
numerical loss the Liberals may thus sustain will not be compen- 
•led for in another way. Since the disestablishment of the 
Cbsnili, Presbyterianism has become more powerful in Ireland. 
The future pohcy of the Liberal party, in endeavouring to secu- 
isnze education in England and to destroy the English Church, 
meeta with great favour from tlie liish Presbyterians, and from 
Hat not inconsidemble section of the disestablished Church that 
B moTiug in the Presbyterian direction. Li addition to these 
new recruits, the Liberal Cathohcs who remain with their party 
wilUlwaya be men of intelligence and active political zeal. 

But it must not be forgotten that there are economic conside- 
ntionaaUo affecting the relation of the two great parties to the 
Utholic pfjpulation of Ireland. Of late years, the Liberal party 
iMVo found theraselvea in a difficulty with their Irish contingent, 
•>n Huch questions aa mail-packet subsidies, and grants for 
material improvements. The people of Ireland have taken very 
Batch to heart an instructive incident which occuiTed nearly 
i^tty years ago. 

The brilliant and accomplished Irish Protestant lawyer who 
DOW letids with genial tact the Iriah Catholic party iu the House 
of Ciunmons has at least one historical claim on the gratitude of 
on agricultural population. Nearly thirty years ago he foretold 
that Manchester principles would be found to be inconsistent 
with the agricultural uitereats of Ireland. He earnestly supported 
Lord George Bentinck, Mr. Disraeli, and Lord John Manners iu 
pointang out that Free Trade, unaccompanied by large and just 
compettsations to the agricultural classes, meant the destruction 
of the Irirfi people. He quoted the grave admission of Sir Robert 



Peel that, " if there were to be any part of the United Kin^Ri^ 
which wa* to aufl'er by the withdrawal of Protection, it Would be 
Ireland ;" and. as an InBhman, he bore testimony to the accuracy 
of Lord Guorge Bentinck'e famous prophecy : " If yon pass these 
Free Trade measurea, you deliberately ruin five hundred thousand 
emull farmers in Ireland." Ko one deniew it now. The five 
hundred tlioupand, with their families and their labourers, are 
gone. Fne Trade, nnrestnctcd and uncompenaated for, waa 
cattied, ajid the tourist can see to-day in every country town, 
and by the road-Bides, the evidences of Lord George Bentinc]^s 
prcBciejice — broken gables, silent villages, half-a-million of moss- 
grown hearth-stoncB I He can contemplate the evidences of 
what is a thousand times woree than absentee landlords — an 
absentee tenantry I Mr. Butt can honourably boast that though 
the Libei'al Lish members assisted in bringing this dcstnie- 
tion to their country, ho was not one of them. He was then a 
Conservative. Tht; Catholics, to a man, vott'd against the agricul- 
tural interest. Every Liberal representative of Catliolic electois 
went into the lobby witli the Fn'c Trade party, and asBisted 
iu sealing the fate of Ireland. Catholic electors influenced at 
that time far more than fifty vott's in the House of Commons, 
Tliat number could have tni-ned the scale and saved the Irish 
tanners. If even the Catholic vote hail been divided between tho 
Manchester school and the agricultural party, the Free Traders 
would have been compelled to make a compromise by which 
certain reasonable compensations might have accompanied the 
measure — such compensations as would Imve mitigated, if not 
entirely prevented, the blow that fell upon the only roal ladostiy 
of Ireland. 

Wheu Mr. Butt, and other Ccmservatives of that day, urged the 
Catholic members to break with thy Manchester school, at least ou 
a question so vital to Ireland, they answered, " No, we are 
merabers of tiie Liberal party. At all huzaads we shall stand by 
our party." 

Not many months passed, and again Lord George Beutitlclt and 
Mr. Disraeli gave the Catholic members an opportunity of saving 
the Irish people. At the last supreme moment, when the famiuv 
woe closing upon the land, the Conservative party proposed a vote 
of £lG,0O0,OOO. to be spent on reproductive work in Ireland; a 
vot« which would have enabled the people to pnnhaae tlie food 
which, day by day, waa being sliipped from Ireland to England. It 
was the last chance of the poor. " I am n Protectionist," aaid 
Lord George Beutiuck, "and I believe my fii-st duty is to protect 
the hvcs of the people ;" but he was answered, by the Liberal 
administration -of the day, " Our principles are opposed to soolii 
schemes ; we must act according to the nites of political ccoiMJ|l|H 


a mabe no cxcepbon in favour of Irelauil." Again Irish 
CatWic membpra said; — "We are members of tlic Liberal party: 
atallriske weraiist keep the Liberals in o£Sce: we would not be 
sorry ff> See this money sent to Ireland, but Lord John Russell 
raya the (juestioii is so serious that it amciunte to a vote of confi- 
(li-uie,aDd that he will reeigo if Lord Ooorge Boatlnck's plan is 
carried ; therefore wo, as Liberals, must vote against tliu plan." 

A generation haa passed ainco the Irish Catholic kadciu thus 
showed their devotion to the Liberal party. They have expanded 
a good deal of energy in the intervening years, in agitating for 
desouinfttional education for the lower classes, and a chartered 
Catholic TTuiversity for the upper claaaes. How utterly trivial, from 
11 National point of view, is all their agitation of later years, and 
ihar ftilnres, compared witli their conduct in 184G and 1847! 

Those who remember that period admit that the poor farmers 
Aemsolves distrusted the Free Trade cry, and that it taxed all 
Ibc energy of their lay and clerical Icadcre to get them to take 
Uie fatal step of supporting the Free Tnule candidates at the 
«ctiong. The Liberal a^tators said to the Catholic fanners — 
"Imt hitu'eets have nothing in common with the interests of the 
gWitty. The landlords may be injured hy Free Trade, hut you 
win not be harmed. Vote against your landlords," The exil 
wnnsels of Liberalism prevailed — though not without some fore- 
Wings, The tradition is still preserved of how the farmers, in 
nmiij- countj- contests, went up in sullen silence to the poll to vote 
tbarowii annihilatiou. 

It is an matnintive fact tliat some of the veiy men who were 
JriTtn from Ireland across t]ie Atlantic by Free Trade are to be 
finndin the ranks of the enccessful Protectionists m tlio United 
States, and in Canada. In Australia, too, the Irish emigrants 
Mfl active niembera of the Protectionist party. The president of 
4e conference of Austrahau colonists, that repudiated a few 
piM&gothe economic theories of the Manchester school, was 
ulrittitniui. The remarkable and well-argued despatch, in which 
•Jw conference announced to Lord Kuiiberley their resolve to main- 
WH Protection, was from the pen of Sir Gavau Dufl^. 

But whatever lesson the history of the past may teach, as to the 
P<«dbl(.- gain or loss of poUtical parties, from the altered relations 
HI the Catholics and Liberals, a far more important result than 
"ly mere party one can already be observed. It is a fact that 
ren^iiijB animosity in Ireland has always been most bitter when 
"le Catholics were ranged exclusively on one side. In 18i5!3 theie 
^Ti* a tomarkable improi-ement iu this respect. 

■At tlio goneral election of 1859 the Tories bad a net gain of 
Itnrty seats, or sixty votes on a dinsion. Sir James Graham, and 
olJitr astute politicians of the time, atlributed this entirely to tbe 


effect of Catholic votes. The Times, in commentiog on the te^^ 
of out.' of the English contests, said : — " There is a further cause 
for the result, aud in thia iustAnce a very poteut one, the iiifluenoe 
wltich the Roman Catholic clergy have throughout the whole of 
this election thrown into the scale of the Tories." When the 
party diviBion took place on the vote of want of confidence in 
the Government, moved by the present leader of the Liberals, 
ont of the hmidred and one Irish members who voted, aixty- 
tliree went into the lobby with Mr. Di^raeh and thirty-eight with 
Lrird Hartington. But the mere party result of the Irish eleotiona 
of 185i' is of little interest or importance compared to the social 
and national consequences of the good feehng that sprang up at 
the time between Protestants and Catholics. More than a dozen 
ultra-Catholic constituencies returned local Protestant Conserva- 
tives. The letter wliich the Bishop of Elphin published in the 
Countj- of Roscommon, was a type of the sort of Catholio influ- 
ence that assisted tlie Tory reaction. The contest for the second 
seat was between Mr. Goff, a Protestant Tory landlord, and Mr. 
Tenison, a Liberal landlord. The bishop aaid: — 

'■• 1. Tbe clergy and I approve of the opinions and promises set forUi lu 
Mr. Ooff"8 address. 

"■ 2. We think, however, that electors may vote either for him or Mr. 
Tenison consistently with the political aud religious interests of tiie 

'■It. But where their landlord is decidedly against one of the two, wp 
think the tenants should not oppose their landlord." 

Mr. Ooff was returned, and for some years there remained, aa the 
result of a contest so conducted, a sympathy, and almost friendly 
uuion, between the Cathohc tenants and the Protestant gentry. 
In another county a Cathohc Tory was placed at tlie head of tlie 
poll by a combination which he thus described : — 

" lie pointed to his supporters. Instead of dividing, he had nnitAd 
parties. The memory of the oldest politiciau there could not carry him 
back to a day like the present, when the parish priest and the parson, the 
Ituidlord and the tenant, fought side by side for the same candidate. He 
regarded thia circumstance as the happiest in the contest." 

For some years in that coimty, also, the social effect was felt, of 
a fair proportion of the CathoHc priests aud tenants having worked 
eide by eide in politics with the Protestant landlords. 

Nn doubt tlie Tory CathoUc party that was formed in 1859 was 
\'«ry inadequately represented in the House of Commons. Never- 
theless, the support wliich its solitary representative* gave to the 
Ciiurch of England agauist the attacks of the Diasentei-s and of 
pome of his Liberal co-religionists — his votes on Cliurch Itatee. tbo 
Oxford University Bill, the Burials Bill, the Endowed Schools Bill. 
and the other measures in which the Liberals assailed uccle«- 


a^al authoritj*. attracted some attention, and may, perhaps, be 
uid to mark a tumiiig-poiiit in the recent hietory of the Catholic 
[Arty. But, howfVLT feebly the Coneervative Catholics may have 
been repreBeuted iii tJie House of CommonB, they commanded 
\a^ authority out of the Houae. Cardinal AVisemau was uot only 
imbnt'tl with the Conseivative piinciplee of liis Church, but ho did 
not shrink, when neceBsary, from the arena of active politice. He 
Dptiily wertfd his electoral influeuce whenever it could be useful 
in favour of the Tories. In pubHc and in private he expressed 
hie sympathy ■with Mr, John Edward Wallifl, the conductor of 
wliat was tiien a Catholie-ConaeiTi-ative journal, the Tahhl. The 
great Oratorian taught then, what he has recently printed, that 
"Toiyisiu — that is, loyalty to persons — siirings immortal in the 
human breast j" and that it is possible to '• luiite what is free in 
ibKiiew structure of society with what is authoritative in the old, 
wittimt any base compi-omise with ProgresB and Libei-ahsni."' 
Cudinal Wiseman's example, and Fatlier Newman's teachings, arc 
uut Inst on the rising generation of Catholics. The premier Duke 
ud hereditary Eail-Marehal of England is no longftr in the 
"wks of the Liberals. From the highest to the lowest the change 
cm be observed. Perhaps, in an attempt like the present to 
tOnuect together a few historical incidents, it may not be out of 
plwc to note a siguificant fact; that three I'lime Ministers of 
England since the Revolution of 1(188, are at this moment repre- 
•eoted by Cathohc Tories. Sir Robert AValpole, the great Whig, 
*bo framed so many penal laws, is now represented by the Tory 
•^liolic, Lord Orford. The present Lord Bute is a Tory Catholic ; 
3ii[l go 18 the heir apparent to the title of Lord North. 

Aa long as Cathohcs did not range themselves exclusively on 
"lie fflde or the other, rehgious bitterness appeared to be declining 
in Ireland. 

In a few years, however, a great party ciy was raised, and the 
tjlterals managed to drag over the whole of the Irish Catliohc 
^y again ti> their side. Religious animosity became the order 
'-^ lie day. The present paper does not propose to deal with 
•'"ntnt controversies, but one cannot help remarking that the 
l>i«ory of the agitation of I8G8-I39 is in itself an expose of the 
"Irsoge hallucinations about Taticaniem, of which so much is 
t«wd now. The Catholics were arrayed in bitter hostihty 
*gumit tliu Protestants. This was done not for a Catholic object. 
" i»ii8 not done in accordance with any suggestion I'roui the 
^rt'cau; on tlie contrary, it was done in opposition to the 
pnnciplra of the Catholic Church and the declared wishes of the 
V.K,..- jjj,^ Gladstone himself, -witXi charactetistic honesty and 


' Eh. Xdwsud'h Lullor 

if KorfotkonMr.OIadBtoou'a "Expostulol 



courage, did not conceal this then. In one of his speeches, 
previous to the general election at that time, he quoted from the 
authoritative Papal organ published in Rome the disapproval of 
his projected Church Disendowment in Ireland. Even some of 
his Liberal CathoKc supporters openly boasted that on this subject 
they were acting in direct antagonism to the expressed sentiments 
of Rome. But the leading Catholic prelates in England and 
Ireland resolved, nevertheless, on the grave step of zealously 
supporting Mr. Gladstone and the Liberals in secularizing Church 
property. After his pubHc announcement that Rome disapproved 
of his Irish Church scheme, and after his denunciation of the 
EncycHcal and Syllabus, in 1868, these prelates still urged Catholic 
voters to support him as a " great Liberal statesman." 

The event is too close on the present day for a student of 
history to venture to touch on the political consequences of that 
anti-CathoUc policy. One result— -that of intense religious bitter- 
ness — ^became at once evident. But, imhappily, religious animo- 
sity in Ireland means the antagonism of the two classes on whose 
cordial co-operation the real prosperity and, indeed, the whole 
National future of the country depends. As a rule the landlords 
belong to the Anglican Church, and the tenants to the Catholic 
Church. It is idle to talk of Irish prosperity or of National 
aspirations as long as those two classes are in hostile camps ; and 
hence it is that rehgious animosity, which is an evil everywhere, 
is peculiarly destructive to Ireland. 

Of late a change for the better has been noticed; and this 
change, as in 1859, is coincident with the breaking off of one set 
of CathoUcs from the ranks of the Liberal party, and at the same 
time with an open concuiTence of opinion between some of the 
prelates of both Churches in reprobation of the leading features 
of the Liberal programme. The "powerfid assault on the 
divinity of the Bible by the Germans," and the spirit of 
materialism, which seems to be guiding the Liberal party every- 
where, have been encountered in almost identical arguments by 
AngUcan and by Catholic bishops. But whatever may be the 
cause that brings them together — whether it be partly their 
resistance to the attack upon a common Christianity, or partly in 
consequence of the inevitable break-up of CathoKc Liberalism — 
in any event, the result should not be regretted if it tends to 
establish a better feeling between Protestants and Catholics in 
Ireland. Such a result is infinitely more important than any 
mere question of gain or loss to the Conservative or Liberal 

Pope Hennesst. 


UUBALLA, Dec. 2a(A, — Cliiistmaa day. A loug ioumey of 
some frixteeii hours bronglit ub, about 3, to tliia place, 
wlntber we bad been bidden by the CommandeMn-Ohief, and 
whero wir ftniiid the most delightful tenf« ready to receive us. 
We pamied Allygurh, and at Gliazeeahad left the East Indian 
ityHtcm for that of tho Sciudo, Lahore, and Punjab Une. Night 
fell tiure, and we continued our journey paet Meenit, ■with its 
KUiiKter meniorioH (jf 1857, Mozuffeniugger. and Sahanmpoi-c. 

Tlie country, as long ae tho light lasted, was of the same 
charact'^r as that through which we travelled from Cawiipore to 
Agm, Often we observed the good etfecta of irrigation ; eome- 
times wo saw kiid on which had fallen, aa far aa I coidd judge, 
the Mune calamity as that we had observed in Oudh — a, Reb efflo- 
rescence on tho surface of the soil, indicating the presence of 
oh«nicaI nubirtaiiceB fatal to vegetation. 

The mnrt conspicuoua plant of cultivation wan the tall Urrah 
(Ct^oHiu tndiciu), now covered with its yellow leguminous flower, 
always a precarious crop bo far north, as it cannot stand much 
frost, but very valuable when it does succeed. 

Up very early to see the Himalayas ; wliich, however, ob- 
dtiaalcly remained in the mist, and the only faint glimpse of them 
which I obtained was much later in the day, on tlie way to church. 
The church is handsome, very handsome if judged by an Indian 
standard, and filled with a large, chiefly military, congregation. 



Dec. 2Qth. — Rode with the Coramauder-in-Cbief roiuid the tm' 
tonment, which he himself laid out some thirty year* ago, and 
admirably laid out it is. These cities of viUas, inhabited ^3V 
Europeans, outside and often far away from the native cities of 
the same name, each \-illa standing in its park, or compoiind, aa it 
is called, from. I bc-lieve. a Portuguese word having the same root 
as coupon, are one of the most curious features of India, and utterly 
imlikeaujihiiigat home. This one is purely military, the small civil 
station being some miles off. Wo saw the general arrangement 
of the place, and stepped to go through as well a native hospital 
as the hospital of the rifle brigade. The latter seemed to be what 
it should, but I cannot say quite as much for the former ; the rule 
that the native soldier should receive so much pay, and find liim- 
self in all tilings, producing rather questionable results when 
it is applied to hospital management. The subject, however, 
thanks to the peculiarities of native habits, is surrounded with 

During our lide, and later in the day, I had an opportunity of 
hearing Lord Napiers \-iews ou all the points iu connection with 
the native army which we have heard most talked of in the last 
four weeks, and liighly reasenring these views were, formed as 
they had been from a far wider survey of the whole subject than 
any to which we had listened. 

Some uiteres^ing types presented themselveB amongnt the 
Commander-in-ChiePe visitors to-day, as for instance, sons of Dost 
Mahommed ; a Sikh laudeil jiroprietor ; two Afghans who bad 
sided with us in the war, and had done excellent service in the 
mutiny, &c., &c. 

Lahore, l/ec. 'Slat, — We have been moving about so rapidly 
that I have had uo time to write. 

First 1 must tcU you of Pattiala, whither wo were invited 
by tho Maharajah, who sent his carriages for us. Ou the 
way I caught a glimpse of the Indian jay, by far the most 
beautiful bird I liavi; ever seen in a wild ntate. Then came, 
as WB hurried at racing pace along the excellent road, the 
grand Serais built by the Moguls for the reception of travcUw*. 
One of these, that of Kajpoora, "firm as a fortress, with its fenou 
of Btone," stands close to the humble posting bungalow, and the 
still humbler luilwoy station. 

How curiously, I thought, would a voyager from anotlior planet 
bo apt to mistake the relative power of the people who raised 
these edifices I 

At llajpoora aiid otlier places we found officers of His Hi^ncss 
and boibea of horaemwn, sonic of whom galloped on to convey thu 
news of our conuug from post to posK 

About two iiiilcB from the capital the Maharajah met ns. where- 



upon we immediately left the carriage in which we were, and 
joined him. After Bomo 300 yards we all got down again and 
entered the state carriage, in whicli we veinained till we reached 
a point of the road at whicli some fifty elephtmta were drawn up 
on one rade of the way, and a large number of led lioreea on tlie 
other. The elephants had gilded or silver-plated howdahs, and 
the led horeee, beaufiftil aninialB, thoronghly conscious of their 
own beauty, were splendidly caparisoned. 

Leaving the etate carriage, I followed the Maharajah up a ladder 
into the howdali fil" liis elephant, while my two companions ascended 
arK other, and the procession moved forwards. First came the 
st4»Jid«r(i of Pattiivia, borne on a great elephant attended by two 
t«ix»aller once; then followed a body of cavalry; next came the 
atatte carriage; then a company of musicians playing, and plaj-ing 
Kscciellently well, Scotch airs on the bagpipe. 

-lifter these went men on foot in scarlet dresses and armed with 
ajl-ver spears, while the hne was closed by the elephants in double 

-As we entered the town a Salute wa« fired, and we passed 
oa tlirough streets and under housetopB crowded with spec- 

Ah goon as we had got beyond the furtlier gate, we came on 

Wo long lines of extremely smart^lookiug troops, horse and foot. 

"Riewo lined the way till we reached the gate of the " Peart 

Garden," where, under a second salute, wo descended from the 

"huge, earth-shaking beast," who did not particularly like the 

filing, though he behaved with great dignity. A man then 

advanced and presented ns with bouquets of a very fragrant 

UBrciwnis. m^r the jonquil, the Maharajah meantime taking my 

Wd. and leading me along a row of fountains, and under tlie 

Aaile of oranges and loquats, to the door of the lovely little garden- 

Iwiuti which ho put at our disposal. 

ITiere, after a few moments, we were left toinstal ourselves and 
lo <linB. Aa soon as dinner was over, we set forth to visit our 
entertainer at his great palace in the town. Stopping at the foot 
ft a long flight of stairs, we ascended them into a wide open 
^We, while the b«nd played "'God Save the Queen;" and the 
"whamjah, advancing to the door, led me into a maguiticent hall, 
tilHang with innumerable lights, and Jilled with people in gorgeous 
flfwes. It was exactly the kind of tiling a child imaginea when 
itfitBt hears of kings ajid courts. Sitting tliere in the centre of 
'*» (inrbar, we assisted at our first nautch. an entertainment with 
'■'licli, in the days of Knnjcet Singh, even the greatest affairs of 
^Ui used to bo mingled. Only one of tlie pf-rformers was pretty ; 
iuui M for propriety, the ceremony was grave enough to have 
wa a religious service at the timoral of a bishop. 



fo r til. I 
een ft# i 

That, over, tliere wore fiit works with, of courae, many a 
little bits of Hembmndt amidst tlio crywd. 

This, however, was not itll of PftUiala. WoiksliopB, with a 
raachineiy ; ao itdmirably managed giiol ; a school, where I nmil^ 
the boys retid Kajiier's accoiuit of tho battle of Albuera, which 
they did very well ; tho state jowcle ; a court jester ; a wTestliug 
toaroamcnt, lu which the knights who contended were elopliauts ; 
and a long visit to tho palace, wliich contains at least one room 
which might be the boudoir of the queen of the fairies — a room 
which is tlie tie plus ultra of all that exquisite artistic feeling can 
do with colour and gold — were only some of the other oceupatioas 
and amusements which oar thoughtful host had pro\'ided for 1 
visitors from the West, who were oidy able to stay a few 1 
instead of the days for which his hospitable kindness woiilct 
have detained them. 

From Pattiala we transferred ourselves to Deyrah, between tj» 
SewaHk range and the outer Himalaya, Imvjng on the way back 
to Umballa much pleasant talk of Eastern Europe and Western 

Asia with Colonel M , our companion in the Pattiala vimt.. who 

knew India as well aa the Levant, and the Levant as well ae India. 

If you look to the north from any piece of open ground in 
Deyrah, you see what seems to be a little snow close to the top of 
the outer Himalaya. When yon have looked a moment, you find 
ont that it is not snow but white houses dotted about. T boWT 
houses are tlie sanitaria of Landoiu- and Mnssoorie. 

We were bound for the first, and I was soon on the b«^ 
H charming httlc Arab, whose arm-chuir canter was higlily fav 
able to botanizing, and under the guidance of Dr. Brandis, ft* 
Inspector-General of Indian forests. Within the first four miles of 
our ride, he brushed away a fearful heresy wliich I cherished about 
the Neeni; havmg four weeks ftgo — will you beheve it ?— been led 
by some coirupter of the tme faith to confound Melia Azadirachta 
with Meha Azedarach. Then he confirmed my orthodox but 
hesitating opinions abont tho Sissoo, showed me Cedrela Toona, with 
its Ailanthu«AooVva^ leaf, and the soapnut Sa^nndux emarginaiut,, 
now yellow, like sf) many of our own trees in autumn, 
came Bombim ceibn, the mik-cottou tree, covered with its i 
flowers, and liotlUra tinctoria, which furnishes an import 
wth much else. 

As we drew near the base of the Iiills, our friend cried, " Now^ 
look to the left, and you will sec your first Stll forest. Tho yoonjf 
Sal always takes that eylindrioal shape." I looked, and wiw t ' 
might have been to my bad eyes a Thuringian pinewooi 
closely does the huge-leaved Sfil ape in its early stage tho g 
of needle-leaved trees. Soon we were on tho Himalayan d 
and I Iiad then to change my Arab for a mountain pony. i 



^lODg we iK'nnl a familiar aouud wliich had uot reaclipd my ear 

since I lioard, at Caroledde, the Lauder " siuging down to the valo 

»jf Twi;vd."' It was a laouutain brook makinp; its waj to ibc 

Gauges. Soon came another familiar sight, a toll-bar; but does 

t*> it aDvther. less familiar one, the flower-adorned chrine of a 

Hindu aBcetlc. On we went with fine ^Hews of the plains — the 

Jciod of "views one has from the Apeniiine looking to the west — 

as^nd gradually rose from one belt of vegetation to another. On 

^.Zao lower slope Euphorbia Roylmna was cvcrj'where, a huge plant, 

cfS thoroughly tropical appearance. Theu came BauJiinia Metii^a, 

,^mdilieea Ad/ialoda, and ffamiUonia SuaveoUm. 

At length our guide, plucking something, said — " You know 

tl:»-ia." It was a maple — Acer oltlongus. We had reached the region 

w^liere European genera become pretty uumei'ouB, and soon saw 

M. ^Ma Nef}alen»is, Pyrut variolosa. Ilex dipyrena, Qitercu* iiicana, 

.•1_ w^drom^da ovalifoHa, &c. The two trees, however, which interested 

OM.^ most were the Deodara aud Rhododendron, neither of which 

TT^je very numerous. Still, there they were, in their own home. 

A-t about 7.500 feet I gathered Soncftas oUraeeus, a familiar Biitish 

»^^cie6, which is, however, I believe, to be found in the plains, 

m<3 e Euphorbia, which was either the Amygdaloide^ of our spring 

woodlands, or something quite close to it. Other plants wliich I 

was particularly glad to see ou this excursion ^vere Muhovia 

A«j>fl/nig(s, Cupresmm lorulosa, Benthamia fragifera, and Leyceeteria 

jirrtnota, dear to the British pheasant. 

^^'^o )isd clambered a long time over tho pathways of Landour, 
wljcin a glimpse fold us that the great view we had come so far to 
«e would not be denied us, and wc were soon on tho top of 
LaHteeba, tho Bed Hill, and in presence of tlie grandest moimtain 
"^liain in the whole world. Our friend, with that earn and 
wactitnde which took his countrymen to Paris, had provided 
liuuself with a compass and the most accurate maps, so that 
w could check liis local knowledge in the best way. 

Well, then, look with me due north. Ton will st>t> a range of snow 
lOMmtiuns about sixty-eight miles ofii and 17,000 feet high. Behind 
than fiowa the Sutlej, making its way down to the plauis. Then, 
M the eye moves eastward, it is shut out from a ^-iew of the snow 
''y tlie Snakes' Hill, Nagteeba, an eminence of about 9,000 feet. 
"tffl further round towards the east the snow begins again, and is 
Wntinuous, First comes a mighty mass some fifty miles ofl^ and 
•W-OOO feet high, which riaee beliind the sacred Jumnootri ; then 
^ Rtill higher mass of Banderpanch and a horn like the Pio du 
Willi, south of Pan ; then a mass of about 22,000 feet beyond the 
"W uf the Bagaruttee, which feeds the Ganges. The highest point 
^'i this mseB is Mount Hoira. Still further to the east, and mxty 
"liies off, is the mighty Kidernath, 22,832 feet in height, quite a 


little hill comiiared to Everest or Kiucliiiijunga, but higher thftff 
any nioimtain out of the HinialayaB, lookiTig downi on Cliimbomzo 
and Kilfnianjarii, and equal to Mont Blauc with Skiddaw and 
Snowdon on the top of it. Still further east, near the head- 
■watere of the Alaknanda, another feeder of the Ganges, the chain 
sinks, and one sees no raoro snow. Somewhere between the cyo 
and the Mount Moira range lies Gangootri. It is the fact of 
Junmootri and Gangootri both lying between the eyo and theso 
mountains which has made people erroneously apply to some of 
their dizzy heights the names of these two sacred spots. 

Now turn to the south. Right in front you will see the valley 
of the Boon, one of the prettiest bita of countiy in India or any- 
where else. Shghtly to the west you will remark a stream making 
its way to the Jumna, and a good deal to the east another making 
its way to the Gauges ; while beyond the Doon, and shutting out 
from it the hot winds of summer, as the Himalayas shut out tho 
cold winds of winter, is the Sewalik range. Away to the west «if 
it, but out of sight, is another hallowed place, Hurdwar, where the 
Gra.nges issues from the hills. I thought of the fine sentence (I 
think, Bishop Thii-lwall'e) which lingei-s somewhat imperfectly 
in my mind — 

" The fulness of the stream is the glory of the fountain, and it is becaose 
the Ganges is not lost amidst its parent hills, but deepen.^ and widens tiU 
it reaches the sea, that so many pilgrimages are made to its springs." , 

And again of the words in Mackintosh's paper on Lord ( 
wallis — 

'■ His remains are interred on the spot where he died, on the banks of that 
famous river which waters no coontry not either blessed by Ina go^^rtunenl 
or visited by his renown, and in the heart of that provinee, so long the 
chosen seat of religion and learning in India, which under the influence of 
his beneficent system, and under the administration of good men whom he 
had chosen, had risen from a state of declme and confusion to one of pros- 
perity probably unrivalled in the happiest times of its ancient prino,-a. 
■ His body is buried in peace, and his name liveth for evermore.' " 

We started betuncs on the 30th, and rode rapidly towards the 
Eastern Doon, through lanes full of the large sweet-scon ted Jta- 
minum hirmtum, which was covered «-ith a heavy dew. In the 
Immediate neighbourhood of Deyrah the Piniif loTtgifoHa ami the 
larger bamboo, plants of very difiFerent climates, meet and flourish. 
Except at Jubbulpore, I had never seeYi the latter in anything 
hko its natural state, and very beautiful it is in that state. Yester- 
day I observed several other bamboos, amongst them n Bntf&L 
species occurring at a high elevation. ^^^^ 

We dismounted at the bottom of a bill, and proceeded ^^^| 
aerom an orchard of mangoes to the edge of the S81 for4|M^^^^| 
we advanced, I saw that tho branehes of tho maugoc8'^^^| 


covered by two species of orchids — ^both, I beUeve, CattleyapS, but 
I speak with some hesitation. 

And what was the S&l forest likel Well, at the point where we 
entered it, and passed the Government pillars marking oflT the 
reserved from the village woodland, it was very Hke the broken 
ground between the Missenden road and the great avenue at 
Hampden. When we had entered it, however, the totally difr 
fetent look of the soil struck the eye at once. Here, there was 
neither the grass of an English park, nor the bed of dry leaves 
which you find in a close beechwood. The surface, swept by 
frequent fires, was as hard as stone, and dotted only with plants 
which had grown up since the last of these had passed that way. 
Conspicuous amongst such plants were a dwarf palm (Phoenix 
aeaulis) and an asparagus, said to have lovely white flowers at the 
proper season. Amongst the trees, I was most interested by the 
S&l itself, by the Eugenia Jambolana, by the Lageratroemia parvijlorcij 
a near relation of that lovely Lagerstroemia which so much de- 
lighted us at Venice, recalling, as it did, in autimm the spring 
glories of the lilac. I had no idea to what an extent the creepers 
of these regions are the enemies of the forester, and it went to my 
heart to see the heavy Nepaulose knife applied to the BtUea superboy 
the Derris scandensj the Lorantliua longifoUa a handsome cousin of 
our common mistletoe, and other plants of an equally attractive 
appearance and equaUy encroaching disposition. 

From the Eastern we hurried to the Western Doon, at a pace 
which would hardly have permitted the grass to grow under our 
feet, and were soon among the plantations of the Deyrah Tea 
Company, where imhappily we were only able to stay a very short 
time, during which, however, thanks to the courtesy and in- 
telligence of the superintendent, I learned more about tea than I 
liad ever known before. First, I saw the plant in flower. You 
know, or don't know, that it is a camellia, and very like a miniature 
copy of the well-known ornament of our winter conservatories. 

Then I was told the distinction between the Chinese plant and 
its taller relative, which is wild in Assam. It is not grown in the 
Deyrah plantation, but a hybrid between it and the Chinese 
plant is. 

Then I learned the difference between black tea and green. 
Both come from the same plant, but the former is fermented and 
the latter is unfermented. 

I asked about the half-fabulous teas one has heard of, which 
never come into the market, " tea of the Wells of the Dragon,'' for 
instance. Such things, I was told, if ever made, would be the 
young unexpanded leaf plucked and prepared separately. 

Then I asked about Flowery Pekoe, which, in my ignorance, I 
supposed to contain portions of the flower. Flowery Pekoe, I was 



told, is the very finest kind of black tea, and has its name from ^SM( 
Koft dowii of the ynuiig tiniijqianded leaf which may he perceived 
upon it. A little of it ia Bometimes prepared ei-parately. Orangu 
Pekoe, which is much the Bame, has its name from the colour of the 
imexpantled leaf when drit-d. Its orange colour enables it to 
be easily dietinguished and picked out. You must iinderBtand 
that save and except the half mythological teas I have aUadcd 
to, all black tea, from Oi'auge Pekoe down through Pekoe and 
Soochbng to Bohea, which last is made of the largest and oldeat 
loaves, and aD green tea from Young Hyson down to Hyeon- 
Bkin, are plucked and prepared together. The sorting is an after 
process, done partly by rievc, partly by hand. AVe saw tlie initia- 
tory procesB; and it will please you to know that the curled and 
shrivelled form in which all tea appeare is entirely due to its being 
first heated, and then most carefully rolled between the hands of 
the operator and a kind of rough matting. Further we could not 
follow it, for we had to huriy away, and I am at the end of my 
Latin as far as tea manufacture is concerned, except that I saw the 
sorting process going on, and would be, I think, qualified to pi<^ 
ont the Orange Pekoe. 

I had to leave Deyrah without seeing the establishment of t 
Great Trigonometricjil Survey, for wliich I was very sorry, a 
had to leave Sahaiimpore mthout seeing the Botanical C 
but one cannot put the work of tliirty-six hours into twenty-f 

Thefii-etpaitof ourway from Deyrah to Saharunpore, where wrf.' 
joined the railway, was thron^i the pretty Sewalik Hills, to ex- 
plore which I would niost willingly have given some days. At one 
of the places where we changed horses, I got down to giithcr some 
leaves of Sfll. This had the good effect of betrajnug me to one 
of the young forest officers, whom yon may remember seeing at 
Nancy when 1 went to have a look at our Indian students there in 
1872, He came with us to the point where the cultivated laud 
meets tlie forest, aud named for lue Cohttea Nepalensit, 
sister of the Bladder Senna, said to be hardy in England, a 
gi-eat oraameut to the Sewahk at this season. 

Li Saharunpore, I had much couvcrsntiou with Dr. Jamei 
honoured founder of tlic tea industry in North-Weateru InA 
his house in or close to the Botanical Garden, which was 1 
ing to a degree, but it was, alas ! in the middle of the ni^ti* 

When wc awoke this morning, we were at Kuitarpore, on 1 
farther ade of the Sutlej, in the Jiillimder Doab. Soon we crossed 
the huge bed of the Beas, and ran on to Umritsur — t.c. Am 
Saras, the fountain of Iraraoitality, wliich is the great emporin 
this part of India and the sacred city of the Siklia. 

We soon started, under tlie anepices of General Reynell 1 
to see the Golden Temple, which stands iu the middle of a J 


tank, and is connected with the land by a marble causeway. It 
is called golden because the upper part of it is gilt all over, like 
the dome of the Isaac^s Church in Petersburg. Wo put on 
slippers, as one does at St. Sophia, a ceremony i*arely insisted on 
in the mosques of India, and followed our guide along the edge 
of the tank, which is set with, a few trees, amongst which I ob- 
served the Jujube, and so across the causeway to the graceful 
little temple. Several men were busy decking out the small 
baldacchino under which the sacred book of the Sikhs, the Adee 
Granth, is kept. Three others were playing on musical instru- 
ments, and singing rather noisily. There is a great deal of 
mosaic work on the marble of tiie temple, and nothing can be 
prettier than the gilding of the interior, which is more like what 
people in England associate with the Alhambra than anything 
else which occurs to me. It is very smaK, little more than a chapel. 
The Capella palatina at Palermo comes into one's mind, but the 
feeling of the Golden Temple is quite different, veiy riant instead 
of being very gloomy. We returned across the causeway, and 
went to another building where the initiatory rites of the Sikh 
religion are performed, and where we foimd one of the officiating 
priests reading the Granth. He sat under a marble canopy, with 
groups of the faithful standing on either side — exquisite architec- 
ture behind and above. We stood in. a coui-t-yard sUghtly below. 
I have seen nothing in India which would have made such an 
historical picture. Form, colour, everything was there. Paul 
Veronese never painted anything, I dare venture to say, that 

would have dehghted his eye so much. 

« « « « « « 

Umritsur is a busy, well-ordered,, and extremely picturesque 
place. Here and there stand up from amidst the green of its gar- 
dens the towers of the old nobles, making one think of Florence, 
but most of the houses are only of two stories. I was glad to 
see many quite recently built, of great architectural merit, and 
charmingly adorned with wood carving. 

Before we left, we did some business with the shawl mer- 
chants. By the way, I never knew, till the otlier day, that the 
Kampore shawls took their name, not from the Rampore Avith 
whose name one is famihar, but from Rampore, the capital, of the 
mountain state of Bussahir, high up the Sutloj. They are now, 
however, chiefly made in the plains. 

We paid a visit to the Fort of Govindghur, over which I walked 
with the very intelUgent commanding officer, to whom I put 
many questions as to what he would do mider such and such 
circumstances, and was pleased to find that he had thought of 
all contingencies. 

It was at Govindghur that, as I heard, not on this, but on 


auother occaeiuii, a very significant couveraatjon took place, tim^^ 
years ago. 

Sikh nobleman : "Why is that mortar inclined in that direction, 
which does not seem the natural onet" 

British Artillerist : " Sir, it is pointed at your Holy of Holies. 
The distance is yards. The proper charge is of gun- 
powder. It will drop a shell within twenty feet." 

Happily our relations with the Sikhs have long been as friendly 
as possible, and there is, please God, as little likelihood of a shell 
from Govindghur ever finding its way to the Golden Temple as 
tliere is of its finding its way to St. Paul's. 

My conversation at this place, and several othera which I havo 
had lately, have been so far useful, that they liave called my 
attention to certain aspects of our military poration in India, 
which had not come much to my notice when at the India 

Jan. \»t, 1875. — Indian stations — the European quartere, that 
is, of Indian towns — are built in contempt of the saying, " What 
a pity it IS that lif'u is so short when evc-rj-thing else is bo 
longl" but of all Indian stations Lahore must, I think, be the on© 
in which that trae saj'ing is held in least honour. The distances 
are quite awful. 

Early, however, this morning we set forth under the care of the 
Senior Judge of the Chief Court and the Commissioner to vimt 
the native city — an object which was effected partly in carriages, 
partly on foot, and partly on the " huge earth-elialdng beast," who 
ie most useful in narrow and crowded streets, as it neviT enters 
into his head to tread on or hurt any one. 

The things most worth seeing were the Great Mosque, the Fort, 
the Tomb of Runjcet Singli, that of Gooroo Goviud, the Mosque 
of Wazir All, the Gardens, and the Tomb of Jehangecr. 

The Great Mosquo was built by Aurungaebe out of tlie confis- 
cated estates of his brother Dara, whose fate, in spite of his great 
and many failings, excited a good deal of compassion. Hcnoe it 
has never been popular, and even to this day the faitltful prefer 
other buildings of very inferior pretensions. 

It is a stately pile, wliether seeu from near or far. hut not of 
first-rate merit. In its nohle quadrangle I olwerved far the largest 
Banian I have yet seen — the first, indeed, which gives mc any 
conception of what that tree is when it begins to get on in 

The Fort is of httle military importance, and has been tnnch 
injured both by the Sikhs and ourselves, but it contains mauy 
beautiful bits, and commands an admirable view as well of tli^ 
city as of the duety wilderness wliich spreads around it. AtcMflH 

^^^^P'°'« the 1 
^■^ !'»='. of , 

!'»='. of ,1 ' '"'fte ifeT" "-iw il „„^^ 

*««lmc.J ,!' ""'^ 'ie art „r °f~" «vIo Tr ^ '°°«'iiB „f , 

°^WJ8 o??r* "'ouldl "'"■■ "-J if; """"o «« I ' "'■ 'ie 

'*''»«' - oCL' '■'""labr""''' *« of /!"'■"'"'">• "' 

"71. ""ra— PamphiM °™i-or„„. 

B«^ . ^"^ of w . '® sie«.,. „p ,':''^a ie. ..r 


great Noor Jehan, who eleepu hard by, has aiifferoii very Wtfefc 
more tlian that of her hiiBbatid. Now the authorities are devoting 
a very little money to keeping tlie antiquities of Lahore in some- 
thing like order, but there is still much to be done. 

On onr way back from the tomb of Jehangeer we eaw a piAt> 
match, which was being played between the j-oung Nawah of 
Bhttwiilpoor'e people and some Enghsh officers. The boy rode 
extremely well, and the whole scene, backed as it was by the 
buildings of the city, was strildng and characteristic. 

Jan, ind. — A tme Punjab day — ^the whole nir full of duttt, the 
sun represented by a pale disc. Kkc the moon Been through cloads. 
Thin, wth tho thennomcter at 90" Fahr, m the coolest room, and 
anything you please out of doorS — no imcommon ocetirrence -in 
the hot weather — must be delectable. At projient it is chilly. The 
glass has been doAvii at 21° or 22° Fahr. in the night lately : but. 
not beiug iu tents, we feel the cold less than we did at Agra. 

We drOTC in the afternoon to the Great Shalimar Osrdens. 
The fountains played ; but there- was no great head of water on, 
and the weather waa most unpi^|iitiou8. 

We adjourned to a grove of 'Siasoo, under wliieh the boys from 
six neighbouring ■x'illage schools had been collected — Bikhs, 
Hindoos, and Mahometans, Some of them were very intelligent. 
I asked one youth of about fourteen wliich was the most powerftil 
country in Europe after England. " Germany," he replied. " And 
the next to Gennany?" "Russia," he said. I demun'cd, and 
asked him what bethought of France. "Oh, France." he said, 
" was once very powerful ; but her disasters in the late war were 
so great that she is no longer so." Then I a^ed him what waa 
the ecclesiastical capital of liis religion. He was a Hindoo. 
" Benares," ho answered. " Aiul what is the eccleeiastical capital 
of the most niuneroua body of Ciuistians ? " I inquired. " Kome," 
he replied, " Do you biow what is gohig on hi tliat country 1 " I 
said, pointing to Spain. " A war between the people who ^rant a 
republic and those who want a monarchy," was the answer. 

Having seen a village iu the North-west, we wished to nee one 
in the Pimjab under the guidance of the Deputy Comnliflsioner ; 
so the accountant of the one in which Shalimar is situated attended 
with his maps and books. 

This %-illage, unlike the one I have described near Agra, belongs 
almost wholly to oue family and there is only a single Lumberdar, 
the head of that family. He is absent on a pilgrimage to Mecca; 
but his son came, and we had a long eonvereation with him and 
others as to the amount of the Govenmient demand, the rent paid 
by the cultivators, the nature of their occupancy rights, and eo 
forth. There was present also tho Tehsildar, a most imp<u|||^B 
ofltcer in the Punjab — this one, for instance, having 363 ^Q^^H 


under him — the Canoongoe, or superintendent of acconntants in 
the Tehsi], and, as I have said, the accenhtanty or Putwarree, him- 
edlf, betides nnmerous villagers. 

With these we went ofif to visit the village ; sa^ its mosque, built 
near the tomb of a holy man, with the hereditary guardian «f 
the tomb ; went into a house, due notice having been given to 
ilu§- women of our approach; noticed the stable or oew-house 
below, the sleeping and sitting room above with a Httle g^at 
tiM'Up in them — the cooking-apparatus — ^the household vessels, 
chieAy iBartheikware, not as hi apparently wealthier houses, which 
I had seen at Ahmedabad, of brightly polished braiss or copper. 
Then we tasted the parched Indian com, which was admirably 
good,, and the ehupattee (or ordinary bread), exactly like the 
aoo^e of Kortheht Scotland, which you r^ember finding also 
m liie -IVbad. . We^ saw, too, the village weighmah, an important 
petBonage, iirhoi manages, inter. aOa, the public entertainment of 
stiikagtoi by the village, and - levies a rate for that' and' other 
purpose^" with which Government 'never interferes. 

We stopped at a draper's ihop, ajid examined the goods. Most 
were English ; some, however, were native cottons, but of no 
great merit. Lastly, we had the village bard produced, who sang 
hideously, to a sort of lyre. We had been led specially to desire 
to qee him from having examiaed a village pedigree (an admirable 
institution, recently, if I mistake not, made an official village 
record), to which was prefixed a short account of the fouiidatibn 
of the village by its common ancestor. The one we saw, which 
was not that of the \allage I have been describing, went back for 
four hundred years, and rested, to some extent, on the authority 
of the village bard, whose business it is to know all about 
genealogies. It was an elaborate docinncnt, I know not how 
many feet in length, but long enough, as it seemed to me, to 
have recorded even the history of that great French house which 
is said to have on its pedigi:ee a representation of the Due of that 
day going, hat in hand, to congratulate the Blessed Virgin on 
the birth of her Son, and being addressed by her with the words : 
** Couvrez-vous, mon cousm ? " 

There was a large tree in the village which I did not recognize, 
and t)f which I asked the name. It was my friend the Pilu (see 
my npte on Bhurtpore), whose acquaintance I then succeeded in 

The old moat which we found round Runjeet Singh's Lahore 
has been turned into gardens, and the whole of the adjoining 
county, which — except so far as a few very ancient trees formed 
an exception — ^was a howling wilderness, is now swathed in wood. 
I observe in some abundance a familiar form, which I came upon 
for the first tinxe in these lands as I passed through Mussoorie — 

Y 2 


the weeping willow. It seemB odd to see a tree which I always 
associate with Stratford-on-Avon — ^the most English spot in Eng- 
land — amidst such un-English scenery. I note, by-the-bye, that 
the last accredited guess as to the tree of the 137th Psalm 
connects it, not with the Salix Babylamcoy but with the JPopulut 

Mrs. has shown me a large number of flower-paintings. 

She first obtains an exact outline of the living plant by a veiy 
simple process of nature-printing, and then colours the outline 
carefully. The results are minutely accurate and very beautifuL 
One portfoUo illustrated a journey through Cashmere, and made 
one long for a summer there. 

As I drove yesterday with , I asked him if he knew the 

scientific name of the tall grass which I heard called tiger-grass 
at Ahmedabad, and ^diich is very abundant here. . I think it is a 
Saceharumy but am not quite sure. '^ No," he said, ** but the people 
in this neighbourhood caU it Sikunder's gni«s, as they still caU the 
main branch of a river Sikunder's Channel. Strange— is it nott— 
how that great individuaUty looms through history — 

" On parlera de sa gloire, 

Sous le chamne bien longtemps 
L'humble toit dans cinquante ana 
Ne eonnaitra pas d'antre histoire.*'* 

You remember ^'s maintaining, half seriously, that the 

villagers in the plain between Hampden and Oxford, when they 
speak of the Prince, still mean Prince Rupert. 

How long impressions remain, and how quickly details fade 
away ! " It is a thousand pities," said a resident here to me 
yesterday, " that no one wrote down the table-talk of Bimjeet 
Singh, who was always saying noteworthy things. A few years 
ago there were men alive who could have done it, but now it is 
loo late." 

I still see very few animals — a pair of hoopooes, and the mun- 
goose, the hereditary enemy of the cobra, at this place; the 
lammageyr at Landour ; several birds of the hawk kind, including 
a large ugly kite, which acts as a scavenger ; a fine tiger in con- 
finement at Pattiala ; another just caught, and vincla recusans very 
much indeed, poor beast ; a little lynx also, there, nearly as pretty, 
and somewhat more amiable than the one who used to live in that 
house in the Zoological Gardens, of which the keeper observed 
when asked him if the Suricate bit, " Bites, sir? every- 
thing bites here I" 

Will you have a wild beast story, of which you may believe as 
much as yon please? 

A tigress who lived in captivity at Lahore made her escape one 

* ''CinquMito ana" ia France is 2,200 hero. 



day, and not mmatarally startled the station pretty considerably. 

At length the gardener in whose domain her cage was situated 

went to the proper authority, and begged to be ordered to take 

ihe ronaway back. " Order yon to take it back 1" was the reply — 

**rn give you no such order — ^it would be ordering you to be killed.** 

**Not at all, sir,*' said the man. " Only give me the order, and I 

-wifl take the tigpress back.** " Til give you no such order, but you 

may do as you please,*' was the rejoinder. Hereupon the man, 

taking off his turban, walked up to the creature, which was lying 

in a shrubbeiy which it had probably mistaken for a jungle, and 

after a courteous salutation, said to her, ^'In the name of the 

po'weiful British Government, I request you to go back to your 

cagGT At the same time he put his unfolded turban round her 

neck and led her back. 

Tlie poor fellow lost his hfe not long afterwards, while trying 
the same experiment on a bear, whose poUtical principles were 
not equally good. 

M. E. Grant Duff. 



TO any fair judge of evidence, tlie external evidence ia in 
favour of the belief that the Fonrth Gospel had its Bource 
in the Apostle John. But what is relied on, as above all fatal to 
this belief, is the internal evidence. The internal evidence is snp- 
posed to leadua with overpowering force to the conclusion that 
the Fourth Gospel is a fancy-piece by a Gnoetically die^osed 
Greek Christian, a consummate literary artist, seeking to develop 
the Logos-idea, to cry up Greek Christianity and to deciy 
Jewish, and taking for the governing idea of his composition ihe 
antithesis between hght and darkness. Kverything in the Fourth 
Gospel, we are told, is profoundly calculated in this sense. So 
many miracles, and in such a gradation, as were proper to bring 
out fully the contrast between hght and darkness, life and death, 
Greek willingness to beheve, and Jewish hardness of heart, so many 
miracles, and no more, does the Fourth Gospel assign to Jesus. 
The whole history of the last supper and of the cnicifixioQ is 
subtly manipulated to serve the author's design. Admirable as is 
his art, however, hebetrayshimself by his Christ, whose unlikeness 
to the Christ of the Synoptics is too glaring. His Christ " is a mere 
doctor ; morality has disappeared, and dogma has taken its place ; 
for the sublime and pregnant discourses of the Sea of Galilee 
and the Mount of Ohves, we have the arid mysticism of the 
Alexandrian echools." So that the art of our Greek Gnostic is, 
after all, not art of the highest character, because it does not 


manage to conceal itself. It allows the Tubingen critics to. find, 
it out, and by finding it out to pull the whole of the Fourth 
Gospel to pieces, and to ruin utterly its historical character. 

Now here, again, in what these critics say of the internal evi- 
dence offered by the Fourth Gospel, the external evidence in some 
respects makes it hard for a plain man to follow them. The Gnostic 
autibor, they say, governed by his idea of the antithesis between 
light and darkness, assigns to Jesus no more miracles than just 
what are required to bring out this antithesis. Therefore the last 
iwo verses of the twentieth chapter, which speak of the " many 
other signs which are not written in this book," are spurious. Like 
the whole twenty-first chapter which follows, they are a later addi- 
tion by some one ignorant of the artist's true design. Well, 
but in the seventh chapter we find the Jewish people asking :* 
" When the Christ comes, will he do more miracles than this man 
does % " and in the sixth chapter it is impHedf that the miracles of 
Jesus were, as the Synoptics represent them, numerous. Did the 
artist forget himself in these places ; or is it the Tiibingen critics 
who have forgotten to tell us that in these places too the text is 
spurious ? In the eleventh chapter we have a like oversight on 
the part of somebody, either the artist or (which is hardly likely) 
his German interpreters. The chief priests and Pharisees are, by 
some mistake, allowed to say : " This man doeth many miracles."J 
In the twelfth chapter matters are even worse ; it is there said§ that 
the Jews would not beUeve in Jesus " though he had done so many 
miracles before them." No doubt this is spurious, and in omitting 
to tell us so the critics fail a Kttle in vigour and rigour. But, on 
the whole, what admiration must we feel for the vigour and 
rigour which, in spite of these external difiBculties can see so far 
into a millstone, and find such treasures of internal evidence there, 
as to be able to produce a theoi-y of the Fourth Gospel Uke Baur's? 

The internal evidence, then, is what the rejectors of the Fourth 
Gospel confidently rely on. But to us the internal evidence 
eeems to point by no means to a speculative genius, a consimimate 
artist, giving to Christianity a new form of his own, adopting a 
certain number of sayings and doings of the real Jesus from 
the Synoptics, but inventing for Jesus whatever he did not thus 
adopt. Much more it seems to us to point to a sincere Christian, 
a man of literary talent certainly and a Greek, but not a consum- 
mate artist; having traditions from John, having, above all, logia 
from John, sayings of the Lord, and combining and presenting 
materials in the way natural to him. The Evangelist's Uterary pro 
cedure is that of a Greek of ability, well versed in the philo 
fiophical speculation of his time, and having the resources of 

• Verse 31. t Verse 2. % Verse 47. 

§ Verse 37. 


Greek style and compoaition at Lis cominatid. Bot when on» 
hears of a oonsmmnate artist, an idealizing inventor, when one 
hears of a gifted writer arranging his hero's life for effect, freely 
making discourses for him, one thinks of Plato ; and the writer of 
the Fourth Gospel is no Plato. The redaction and compoaition of 
this Gospel show literary skill, and indicate a trained Greek as 
their author, not a fisherman of Galilee. But it may be said with 
certainty that a Uteraiy artist, capableof inventing the most striking 
of the sayings of Jesus to Nicodemus or to the woman of Samaria, 
woiUd have also made his composition, as a whole, more flawless. 
more artistically perfect, than the Fourth Gospel actually is. Judged 
from an artist's point of view, it has blots and awkwardnesses 
which a master of imaginative invention would never have suf- 
fered bis work to exhibit. Let us illustrate this by examples, 
taking, as our rule is, no case which is not clear, and where the 
plain reader may not be expected, if he vi\X[ only take the trouble 
to look carefully for himself at the passages we quote, to follow ua 
without doubt or difficulty. 

Our Evangelist has, we say, to place and plant records of Jesus 
supphed to him by John. He has to place them without a personal 
recollection of the speakers and scenes, and without a Jew's in- 
stinct for what wiih. such speeches and scenes ivas possible and 
probable. He combines and connects, but hie connection is oft«n 
only exterior and apparent, not reaL No artist of Plato's quality 
would have been satisfied with the connection in the discourse of 
Jesus reported at the end of the fourth chapter, from the thirty^fOi 
verse to the thirty-eighth t "Say not ye, There are yet four months, 
and then cometli harvest? behold, I say unto you. Lift up your eyes 
and look on the fields, that they are white already to harvest; 
and he that reapeth receiveth wages, and gathereth fruit unto life 
eternal, that he that soweth and he that reapeth may rejoice 
together. For Jierein is t/iat saying true. One soieetli and another reaptth, 
I sent J/OK to reap that whereon ye }tave bestowed no labour ; other tnen 
have laboured, and ye are entered into their laboure." Surely there 
are here two parts, of which that one wliich we have given in 
italics has a motive quite different from the motive of the other 
which precedes it. The motive of the first is the ripeness of the 
harvest and the guerdon of the reapera ; the motive of the second 
is the admission of tJie disciples to reap what they had not sown. 
Both have ail the character of genuine sayings of Jesus, hut 
there is no real connection between them, only they coincide in 
pairing a eower withareaper. Jesus did not make long, continuous 
speeches, jointed and articulated after the Greek fashion; he 
uttered pregnant sentences, gnomic sayings ; and two sets of such 
^wrings, quite distinct i'rom each other, which were amone 
^Hftek editor's store of loijia, wc have here. But to this editg 


contionoiis And jointed fdmi of Greek discom-se seemed tho natni'al 
one; and tlierefore, caught by the verbal coincideiiec. he bleiide 
th« two BuyiDgB into one, and claps a for in betwefn them to 
efltftbtiBh a connection. It is a matter of no grent importance; the 
two logia of Jernia are eafely there, and the real relation between 
tliem waa «are to lie brought out by time and ecrutiuy. It is only 
of importanco as a gauge of the Evangeliet's artiBtic faciulty. A 
conaummate artist, inventing for Jesus, could not havu been 
Batiaficd witli Bucb a merely seeming and verbal connection. 

More Btrikiug is the artistic failure at the beginning of the 
tenth chapter. We will remark that on any supposition of a 
ooDRUinmate artist and of perfect m()ti\-iug, the mode of intro- 
ducing all the lovely group of sayings about " the good shepherd " 
luid "the door" isipiite imaccountiible. But let that pass, and let 
OB look at tlie sayings themselvea Who can doubt tliat Iiere 
Again we have two separate sets of lo<}ia of Jesue, one set which 
have / am Ute ijood »heplierd for their centre, and another aet 
whidt have for their centre /am the door; and that our Evange- 
list has thrown the two together and confused them ? Beautifid 
lU arc the snyinge, even when thus mixed up together, llley 
are far more beautiful %v!ieii disentangled. But the Evange- 
list bad a doorkeeper and a dooi' and sheep in his first parable ; 
sod ho had anulhur parable, in which was '* a door of the sheep." 
(Etching again at an apparent coimection. lie could not resist 
joining the two parables together, and making one serve as the 
explanation of the other. To explain the Bust parable, and to go 
oa all fours with it, the second ought to nm as follows: "I am 
the door of the sheep. All that cltmh up »ome otJier way are thieves 
and robbers ; but the slieep do not liear them. I am the door ; by 
ma if any man enter, he ia the aliep/ierd of the theep" The words in 
itsUcs muJBt bo substituted for the words now in the text of our 
Go^el;' and Jesus must stand, not as the door of salvation in 
genera), but as tlm door by which to enter is the sign of the true 
teacher. There can be no doubt, however, that the words now 
in the text are right, and that what is wrong is the connection 
iuiponwd on them. The seventh and ninth verses are a logion 
quite distinct from what precedes and follows them, aud ought 
to b« wntircly separated fi'om it. "I am the door of the sheep. 
a the door; by me if a man enter he shall be saved, and shall 
go il) and out aud find pasture." I'he eiglith verse belongs to 
the firat parable, the parable of the shepherd : not to the parable 
of the door. It should follow the fifth verse, and be followed by 
the tcntli- Jesus saya of the sheep : " A stranger will tliey not 

■ Sm John I. S, 9. Iiutrod of }i\»ov wph t^u wo mntt rcnil injaoJi'vixni' iJ^sx^'' 
itMd ci IfiiMW ws mtut TttA latilioBaai, *aA vei/iV l"""* tu* TpaPiriiy iastrna of 



follow, but will fleo fi-om him, for they know uot the voi«« «^ 
strangers. All that ever came before me are tlueves and robbers, 
but the sheep did iiot hear them. The thief cometli not biit to 
steal and to kill and to destroy ; I am come that they might have 
life, and that they might have it more abundantly. I am tbe 
good shepherd." Piecing his login together, Boeking always a 
connection between them, the Evangelist did not see that he wa« 
here injuring his treasures by mixing them. But what are we to 
think of a consummate artist, inventing freely, and capable of 
producing, by free invention, such things as the most admirable 
of Hie sayings attributed to Jesus in the Fourth Go^el ; — what 
are we to think of such an artist combining in cold blood his 
sayings of .Ichuh bo ill that any one with eyes in his head can 
dotc-ct a better combination for them? 

The reader, probably, will follow ufl without much difficulty 
here; but certainly he wiU have no difficulty in following us if we 
take the last words of the fourteenth chapter. Arue, let w go 
hence, and assert tliat no consunmiate artist, no Plato, would ever 
have given us that. ( Beyond all manner of donbt, Jesus never 
said in one connection : " As the Father gave me commandmeut, 
even eo I do. Aiise, let us go hence. 1 am the (me vine, and ray 
Father is the husbandman." and so on, without the least sign of 
rising or going away, but with the discourse continuing through- 
out three more chapters. How the Evangelist could have come 
to make him say it, is the question. Probably, mth the commence- 
ment of the fifteenth chapter, the writer passed to a freeh set of 
ikotea, containing another set of saj-ings of Jesus ; and he marked 
the transition by inserting between tie end of one set and tha 
beginning of the next the words : " Arise, let ua go hence," They 
were traditional words of Jeans, as we see from the " Rise, let us 
be going," of St. Matthew ; and the composer of the Fourth 
Crospel may have thought they would come in serviceably at this 
point.) A\'liat he thought, we c€in only conjecture ; but that no 
mftn freely inventing, not arranging and combining, and above all 
that no confinmmate artist, would ever have dreamed nf placing 
those words at that point, we may affirm with the utmost confi- 
dence. Oei'toinly there needed an imaginative intellect not leu 
fine tban Plato's to invent for Jesus such a saying as : " The hour 
cometh and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship tiio "' 
Father in ppirit and in truth." But conceive a Plato ordering tha I 
march of his composition thus: "Aiise, let us go hence. I am tin 
true vine, and my Fatlier is the husbandman !" 

To the same category of defects of composition, inexplicable on 
tlie theory of a consummate artist freely inventing, but quite in- 
telligible if we suppose a literary arranger sometimes embarm 
in dealing with liis materials, for which he has the profoB) 


, beloDg tiiOBO curioua jolts in the narrative which are 
i.>ccaaoD«d, as we believe, by the author having John's very 
words in his memory', aud being detemiijied tn preserve them. 
Sueia joll occure in intioducing the dialogue, mth the woman of 
(fwnaria. " Jeeus, tired with his journey, sat thus" by the well." 
Thus \ how? There has not been a word to tell us, and tho ex- 
[iiMsiou as it stands is au incongruity. But the writer had in his 
mind John's own words : " Jmub. tired with liis journey, sat, as I 
AflM htm tHting you, by the web ;" and he could not forbear using 
Ihem. The same formula appears in two other places, and in both 
it probttbly is a relic of John's own narrative. ■' He, lying as lam 
ittlin^ you on Jeeua' breast, saith unto him: Lord, who is itt"t 
Axii Again ; " After these things, Jesus manifested himself again 
t" his disciples at the sea of Tiberias ; aud he manifested himself 
tw lampoing lo tell yoM."t In these two cases to presorve John's 
words does ncit create any awkwardness, but the writer still pre- 
serreg them even when it does. He preaei-vea them, again, with- 
out duly adjusting the contest to them, iu the forty-fourth verse of 
tlis fourth chapter. "After the two days he departed thence into 
Oililee. For Jf/nis himself testified that a prophet lialh no honour in h !t 
omt taimtry." That was a reason for staying away from GiaUlee, not 
lor going there. But the writer has John's words about the testi- 
mony of JesuK in his mind, and hastens to give them without prepar- 
inj their way by sa^'ing : "And this he did, not^vithstanding his own 
'''tJiiiony." The embarrassed sentences about the return to Caper- 
''sniniiiithefflxtb chapter, owe their embarraasment, not improbably, 
III flw same cause : to John's words sticking in the writer's me- 
""iij', and not being properly ftised by him with his ovni narrative. 
fc like manner, who can read without a shock of surprise, 
"1 ihe relation of the feeding of the five thousand among the 
Hilh beyond the Sea of Galilee, that abrupt and motiveless 
''Btence: "Now the passover, the feast of the Jews, wan night" § 
The most fanciful aud far-fetched explanations are offered; 
Ut iriio wmild not prefer the simple and natural explanation 
'W Aft words are a relic of John's original narrative, which 
""il been brought in by him to date his story, that they 
"■Wt fast lodged in our Evangelist's memory, and that he was 
'"Sill to lose themi They ara a little touch of detail, just 
uke; "TUeae things he said in the treasury as he taught in the 
'^Biple;'' tir like: "It was then the feast of dedication at Jera- 
"*'*iii ; it was winter, and Jesus walked in the temple in Solomon's 
PWA."^ They are exactly the expressions which a man telling a 
"f^ty Would be likely to nue, but our author preserves them iu liis 
'*(Nw composition, whether they suit the context or no. And a 



coiiBuiiimate artist, freely following his iuventiou, does not com- ' 
poee thus iiegligeutly. 

T hese are grounds for the improbability of Baiir'a tJieory which 
^bvgeiSt theoLSelvee from a defectives eas of artistic constructioit 
^Kthe Fourth Gospel, Other grounds of improl ability are 
mggested by defects of philosophical grasp. It is alleged that 
our Evangehst improves ou the Jesus of the Synoptios, iuveut« 
Iiis profoundeet things for him. But it oan be made aa clear as 
light, to any unbiassed and attentive reader, that this wonderful 
inventor does not always himself fully understand the very things 
he is supposed to be inventing, obscures them by uuiateUigent 
comment ou them. One instance of tliia we have given IQ 
■'Literature and Dogma." Jesus says; "If any man thirst, let him 
come unto me and drink."* Then, with a reminiscence of a passage 
in the Second Isaiah he adds:-'He that believeth in the Scrip- 
ture Baith, there shall flow out of his belly rivers of living water." 
Who cau doubt that Jesua here meant to say that the believer's 
faith—the faith of the follower of Christ- — should be an eternal 
source of rofrcshment 1 But the Evaugelist proceeds to comment 
on the saying of Jesus, aud to give what is, in his view, the 
proper explanation of it; and tlie explanation he gives is as 
follows : — " But this spake he of the Spirit (/Wi/xia) which they 
that believe on him should receive ; for the Holy Spirit waa not 
yet given, because Jesus was not yet glorified." Nothing can be 
more natural than tJiat a Christian of tlie first or second centniy 
should wish to date all comforts of the Spirit from after the 
famous effusion of Pnxuma subsequent to Christ's death. Bat 
surely the sense of this saj'ing of Jesus is clear; and it is clear, 
too, that it is a narrowing and marring of his words to put this 
mechanical construction upon them. The rejiorter who put it 
fails to grasp the words fully, deals witli them nnintelligently- 
And how incredible that a writer should fail to seize rightly ih^ 
clear sense of a saying invented by himself ! 

Again, take a like case from the eighteenth chapter. Jesus ha^c^ 
said of his disciples : " None of them is tost but tlie son of peaaij 
ditioQ."t Then comes the arrest,^ and the speech of Jesus to tb^im 
liand which arrested him : " 1 have told you that I ara he ; ~ i 
therefore ye seek me, let these go their way." lie gives up liiniecl^EHJ 
but puts his disciples out of danger. His speech is just what w^^ 
might have expected; but instantly our KvangclLst adds that fad4 
made it "m order that l/te nayivg mujhi be jaijilkd ichiek /« spaJc<, C— ^ 
thtm lo/wm 77(0(( lia»t given me have I lost rwiif." Cau anytliing \f~M 
more clear than that the two sayiugs have nothing at all to d^M 
with one anotlier, and that it is a mechanical and narrowiuc ^ 


application of llie first which makes it lead up to the Hecoiidl In 
the first, eternal salvation is the theme ; iu the secontl. safety froiu 
a poBsiiig danger. And cotdd the free aud profound inventor of 
tli& first hnve been so caught by the Burfaces of things aa to make 
it tho mere prophecy of the second 1 

JfttM over tlut /leeutii of all kU reportem ! — this idea ia for us our 
cottstant guide in reading the Gospclfl ; and it is, we are convinced, 
tJie only safe one. But the Tubingen professors revei-se the idea, 

i aay tliat in the Fourth Gospel it is the reporter who ia over 
i«d of Jesus. In the concluding chapters of this Gospel the 
lopbical author, they say, so frames the discourse of Jesus 
! hie roflurreotion is presented " as an internal phenomenon 
oontiQuaUy being accomphshed in the believer's conscience." No 
doubt Uiis ^•iew of the resurrection is indicated in the Fourth 
Gospel, as it is indicated also by St, Paul ; but the question w, 
dom it come from Jeeus himself, or was it invented by the more 
^iritaat amoug his followers to give a profounder sense to the 
phyncnl miracle of his resurrection ? We confine ourselves at 
present to the Fourth Gospel, and we say : True, the resurrection 
cf Christ is there suggested as a phenomenon accomphahing itself 
in the believers conscience. " The idea is a profound one ; it 
lK«d^ H great spirit to conceive it. If the author of the Fourth 
<}Mpel conceived it, we may allow that he carries the significance 
of the resurrection higher than the Synoptics cany it; higher 
than tho Jesus of the Synoptics carries it. But if he is the author 
of thifl idea, he will present it firmly and clearly ; if he presents it 
ooufujif (Uy, then he probably got the idea from Jesus, and did not 
■wpiite understand it." How, in fact, does he present it 1 

All through the discourses of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel, the 
attentive reader may perceive that there are certain fundamental 
MemM which serve as nudei or centres, appearing repeatedly and 
in several connections, -tvith a form aometimes shorter, Br)metime8 
vnoro expanded. It is of great importance to a right under- 
nrtanding of the Fourth Gospel that we should discover in such 
■vASbs the primitive theme, the original logion of Jesus ; and this, or 
«t least tlie nearest approach to it, will in general be given by the 
tliome in its shorter and less expanded form. Very likely Jesus 
■nay himself have used a theme on several occasions, and liimself 
^lave aometimes given to it a more expanded form ; still, from the 
fheme in its simplest and shortest form, wo probably get our best 
■«loc to what was said by Jesus. 

Two such primitive themes in the long discourse of Jesus 
Tidfore his arrest are these : I go to the Father* and, I go away, anil 

' t*ifiu •pti t^ii ftrripa, Jobn xtL IT. Tbi'i U pmbsbly ths pHmilirs tbanto ; we 
tar* ■!•«: ftmlya vp&i fir uJ/ti^arTa fM (zri. 5), ciiti rit itoripa fwu iwiyu (xvi. tO), 
^•UU T*!' Kttiuni aol ttftitiat nfit rir rwrlfa (ivi. 28), 


come again to you.* Let us add to these a third : A UttU'i9kUe and 
ye see me not ; and again a little tohiUy and ye ehall see me.f These 
three sayings appear and reappear^ they come in diffet^nt connec- 
tions, they take forms somewhat varying. But they are? primitive 
themes ; they give us probably the nearest approach possible to 
the words actuallyuttered by Jesus* 

This, then, is what ^ we have : J go to the Fat/iei^. Igoy and come 
again to you. A little while and ye $ee me noty and again a MUU while 
€m4 ye shall see me. Now, it is alleged, and truly, that the F<larth 
Gospel suggests a view of the resurrection of J^us as ati internal 
ph^Qmenon accomplishing itself in the believer^s cOnsci^be. 
The basis on which this allegation must reert is supplied by the 

, three logia which we have quoted. 

But the three logia lend theinselyes either to the annbimecfm At 
,of a physical resurrection or to the 'announcement of a jkpiritaal 
resurrection. Everyt^g depends on their context and <^oimdc- 

. tiou. And by piecing things together, by putting thecfe -fojfta in 
the f^ont, by connecting them immediately with othet fo^- given 
by pur Evangelisiv by dropping out things he inserts between, we 

- cav get at a resurrection annoimced by Jesus which is! declriy 

-spiritual. ''I go to my Father ; I go, and come agiaia* to 'you. 
A little while and ye see me not, and again a little while' a&d ye 
shall see me. I will not leave you desolate, I will come to yon. 

. Yet a Utde while and the world seeth me no more; but ye see 
me,, because I live and ye shall live." A disciple asks bow it is 
that they shall see him- and that the world shall not^- ' JFeftus 
ajisw:erB : " If a man love me, he will keep my word ; and my 
Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our 
abofde with him. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be 
afraid; I go away and come again to yo^t."t And this resurrection 
of Jesus is connected by him with the coming of the Pamclete, 
the Spirit of truth, the new Ught, who should bring out in the 
hearts of the disciples the real significance of Jesus and of what 
he had said.§ 

Thus placed and connected, the primitive ipxofiat^ the / eame 
again of Jesus, gives us, no doubt, the resurrection of Ohrist as 
"ao, internal phenomenon accomplishing itself in the believer's 
consciousness." It gives it us as being this in Jesus Christ's own 
view and prediction of it. The same idea is preserved for us by 
the First Epistle of SU John, an epistle which cannot well have 
been written by our Evangelist, its style is so unlike his. But 
the Epistle deals with many of the ideas dealt with by our Gospel, 

* bwirfw Kol fpxofuu irphs ifias. John ziv. 2\ 

t fUKpSvf Kai oi 9*mp€ir4 /m, Kot ircCXir fUKpitf, Ked t^tvBi fit. Jcbn xtL 1 7. 

J John XTi. 10; xiT. 28; xvi. 16; xW. 18, 19, 23, 27, 28. 

§ John xiT. 28—26. 


atu) it preaouts tliB af/iding in Jbsus and in Iu» Father, ari tlic 
accotnpliMliniciit of flic promiBe of eternal life made hy Jesus to iiis 
followers." The idea is bo fmitftil and profouod au one, that if uur 
Evaugulist had ever fairly grasped it, still more if lie had conceived 
Olid invtuted it, he could hardly hive so dealt with it that ho left 
oa in doubt whether he bila^elf eateirtaincd it or not. He ooilld 
no tu^To dw tliis tliao Paul could letive U8 ia doubt whether he 
luDuielf entertained his great ideiv of the ntcrom — of the dying 
«nd rewirrcctiou of Je»u6 aceompliwhiug themselves in this life iii 
tlie heliever'i* coimoiencc. Thi? mind which, while fully acoeptiitg 
tbd physical mimole wf the resiirreotion, could yet diacern that 
Uitt phenomenon to be made fruitful must have a. spiritual eigniifl- 
oaoce g^ven to it— such a mind would certainly have been im- 
prtMtttil deeply by such au idtia, and havo had it distinct and finn. 
.£ut otir Evaiigdist eo nir^utges Ins materials us to make the 
rufvruuce of ^px^^mi and 5<jitff0t to a spiritual resutrcctiou reirj- 
dubiouB. to overlay it with other tilings, and to olwcure it; •while 
their reference to a piijdical renuri-ectiou is brought out disttnctily. 
"lit tay Father's house tire many mansions; if it were not aoi, I 
would liavo told you. For I go to prepare a filace for you.- and if 
1 gp>, 1 ivill prepare a pkce for you,, I come again.' and will take 
you unto myself, that where I am ye may be aiso."t There, can 
bo no doubt that the pi-imitive theme of ipxpnai wpiK ii/iJn, J 
»«(( a^-mi iHifii yoH. ie hero bo used and connected as to make, it 
point deciisively to a phyRoal resurrection. And this keyfortlie 
whole Btraii) being once given, tlie impression left by the other 
primitive theme, {/.ucpovKiuHiiioTdi ni, a UuU wJdle and ye «liaU tee 
ntd, is in the main an impression to the same effect. " A little 
while and yc see mo not, and again a little while and ye shall see 
roe. Ye shall weep and lament, but the world shall rejoice ; ye 
«ball be sorrowfiU, hut your sorrow ehnll be turned into joy. Ye 
have sorrow now ; but I will see you again, and your heart ahall re- 
juiceiaod your joy no man sliall take from you."t tftalltee 
me of the primitive theme here fiuisheB by beeoming / will see ymt ; 
and the wliole wording and conneotion are such tliat it seems clear 
tlto commentators have rightly interpratod the mind of the Kvnn- 
geluit, when they make this passage and the theme it^^xpor kiu ofiv^i 
fM. a prophecy of the 8pi)roaching physical resnrrcttion of Jesus. 

Mofit we tlaeii suppose that to a spiritiial rcBurreotion mich 
Myings as the three primitive themes we have quoted do not 
really refer, but may be mado to signify it only as a secondary 
Bud after meaning, brought in for purpoeea of edification, and 
ori|;in»Uy hidden in them, perhaps, for these purposes? This, no 


t Johnxir. S,,!. The M 
J John Hi. Kl, 20, 22. 


n mnnnicript. 


doubt, will be the character assigned to the words by offietfl] 
theology, and by popular religion. To ua, however, it secmti 
certain that to a spiritual resurrection the words primarily and 
really point, and that our Evangelist has obscured their true 
scope. For him, as for Cliristeudom long after him, Christ's 
physical resurrection stood, and could not but stand, a pheno- 
menon fixed, immense, overpowering, a central eun attracting 
everything to it. But experience slowly and inevitably reveals 
that phenomena of this kind do not actually happen. Romulus 
does not mount into heaven, Epimenides does not awake, Arthur 
does not return ; their adoring followers think they do, think 
they have promised it, — but they do not. have not. We have 
then to account for the firm belief of the first ChristiaiiH 
in the physical resuiTcction of Jesus, when this resurrection 
did not actually happen. AVe can only account for it from 
things really said by Jesus, which led them to expect it. 
That JesuB was a fanatic, expecting and foretelling his own 
physical resurrection, deceived Uke his followers, but so filling 
them with his owu behef that it prevailed and triumphed with 
them when he died, is an explanation which the whole account 
we have of Jesus, read seriously, shows to be idle. His disciples 
were misled therefore, by something Jesus said, which had not 
really the sense that he should physically rise from the dead, but 
which was capable of lending itself to ttiia sense, and which his 
disciples misunderstood and imagined to convey it. 

And, iudef;d, tliey themselves tell us that this is what actually 
happened ; only that which was in truth mi»underiitanding they call 
tmderstaiidiAg. They themselves tell us that they unconsciooaly 
exercised a creative pressure, long after the time when they were 
going about with Jesus and hearing him, on sayings and doinga 
of their Master. •■ When he was risen from the dead," they te\^ 
UB, after recording one of his prophetic speeches, " Aw di»cipt^^ 
renietiihered that he liad said thU,"* Even if one had not knoic 
beforehand that, from the nature of the case, it was impossible f<c 
the records of Jesus in our Gospels to have been notes tak'^ 
down day by day, as by a Saint-Simon or a Boswell, here is ^i 
Evangelist himself telling us in so many words tliat they w^s 
not. " These things underetood not his disciples at the fijst," ^ 
tells us again, after relating an incident which afforded a remade: 
able fulfilment of prophecy, " but when Jesus was glorified 1^5 
remembered they that these things were written of him, and t^^^ 
thfi/ liod done thete things unto kim''^ They recorded, th( 
sayings of Jesus about his resurrection long after they 
uttered, and when the belief in his physical resurrectii 


funnly fixed in their mindi^. Biit even after his death, ^^ as yet,** 
tkey tell MB of themselves, " they knew not the Scripture that he 
must rise again from the dead."* This affords the most irro- 
fr^gable proof that the sayings of Jesus about his resurrection 
Cannot originally have been just what our Gospels report ; the 
sayings, as they now come to us, must have been somewhat 
moulded and accentuated by the belief in the resurrection. If 
JeeuB had said to the Twelve the very words our Gospels report 
him to have said, the Twelve could have been in no ignorance at 
all of *' the Scripture that he must rise again from the dead," and 
in na doubt at all that they were to count on his rising. '^ He took 
unto Bipa the Twelve, and said imto them : Behold, we go up to 
Jemaalem, and all things that are written by the prophets concern- 
ing tlftn Son of Man shall be accomplished. For he shall be delivered 
unto. the Gentiles, and shall be mocked and spitefully entreated, 
and. 'spitted on; and they shall scourge him, and put him to 
death ; and the third day he shall rise again."! It is in vain that 
the Evangelist adds : ^^ And they understood none of these things, 
and this saying was hid from them, neither knew they the things 
which were spoken." t If Jesus had spoken exactly as he is 
reported, if he had really thus laid down in black and white, as 
the phrase is, what was going to happen, the disciples could not 
have helped imderstanding him. It would have been quite impos- 
sible for them to make that astounding declaration, which yet is 
evidently the simple tnith, that even up to the days which fol- 
lowed his death, " as yet they knew not the Scripture that he 
must rise again from the dead." Something was no doubt said by 
Jesus not unlike what the Evangelist reports, something which 
easily adapted itself to the character of a Hteral prophecy of the 
resurrection, when that event had, as was believed, taken place ; 
but the precise speech put into the mouth of Jesus he cannot 
have uttered. 

The Third Gospel, which reports the speech just quoted, is the 
Gospel which guides us to the discovery of what Jesus can have 
originally and actually said about his rising again on the third 
day. He was told that if he did not leave Jerusalem Herod would 
put him to death. He made answer : " Go ye and tell that fox, 
Behold I cast out devils and I do cures to-day and to-morrow, 
and the third day I shall be perfectedJ^^ Having for ever before his 
mind the humble and suffering Servant of our fifty-third chapter 
of Isaiah, and labouring for ever to substitute this in his disciples' 
minds as the Messias-ideal, instead of the biilliant and triumphing 
Conqueror of popular Je^vi8h religion, Jesus here, beyond all doubt, 

• J«lm zx. 9. t Luke xviii. 31-^3. t Luke xyiii 84. 

I rf rplrp 4M>f rtKuovfiai. Luke xiii. 32. The text of the Vatican manuscript is 



'I Bhal^^J 

foUowing the prophet,* apoke of his violent and iguominitHisl 
as his perfection and victory. That violent end he, as wtw 
natural, could plainly foresee and often predicted. Here he pr^ 
dicta it in thin wise : " On the third day I aliall be perfected." 
What made him say : (hi the tJiird day ? We know how he loved 
to poBseee hiraeclf of locutions of tho prophets and to nse them ; 
ae, for instance, in that well fcno^vn saj-ing, " Take my yoke upon 
you, and leani of me that 1 am mild and lowly in heart, and ye 
shall find rest unto your souls,"' the concluding phrase, 5> flttiJJ 
find rest unto your nofiU, is a locution of Jercmiah.t And in Kite 
manner his phrase, On lite third dtrt/ I shall be perfected, is a remi- 
niscence of the prophet Hosca. Amid the ruin of Israel, in the 
eighth century before Christ, Hosea had aaid : "Come and let ns 
return unto the Etenial ; for he hath torn and he will heal us : 
after hoo dnya will he revive lui, on the third day he will raire >ts itp,"% 
" We shall be restored jjreafH^/y," Hosea means; and, "I i" 
perfected /"-eiwnf/y," is what .lesus means. 

Here we lay one finger almost certainly upon the central n 
serving as foundation for the beHpf that Jesus had him 
nounced he would rise from the dead on tlie third day. Let iia 
combine the scattered loffia, transposed some of them to the time 
after his death, which in some degree enable us, throngh the 
cloud of his disciples' inadeqiiate apprehension, and of legend and 
marvel, to follow the Une of light of the Divine Master. The root 
of everything w4th liim is, as we just now said, the effort, the 
eternal effort, to substitute, as the Meesias-ideal in the mind of 
his followers, the Servant, mild and etricken, for tho regal and 
vengeance- working Root of David. And he knew, that the 
victory of the right Slessias-ideal his own death, and that only, 
could found. " O fools and slow of heart at taking in all that the 
prophets have spoken I must not the Klessiah suffer these things, 
and enter into his glory T Behold, wo go up to Jeiiisalem, and 
the Son of Man shall be betrayed unto the chief priests and 
Rcribes. and they shall dehver him to the Gentiles to crucify i 
nevertheless, I do cures to-day and to-morroAv ; we must iroric 
the works of him that sent me while it is day, tin- night cotu^ 
when no man can work ; I mTist walk to-day and to-morroi 
the day following, and the third day I shall be perfecfe 
Moses lifted up the seipent in the wildeniess. so shall tlie I 

• See iHi-iJi liii. 10, 11, " It plowed llio ElernDl to bniU..i liim, h* liHtli pnt htis 
Rri^l. WbcD lis hsth maclrhijj «oiil in nITcring for sin, he ihnll bq« bis eaed, Ir ■ '■ - 
hag hia itkja, KBd tho plouiire of the Steranl iliiU proBpor in bis band; Ix 
the travni) of bia aoul And be B&liiCei!." 

t Jor, vL Iti. 

I UOL fi. I. 3. In Ih^ Greek Bible of the Ssrentf the irorda arK — fr rf 
t thall tin again. Oompitre lUs Villi ' 

Tfilr^ h/aimtaituBa, 

D Luke, 

I lit third dag 


Ufan be lifted up ; and I, if I be lifted up from tbe earth, will draw 
ttll Mieii imto me."" 

"VcB. thus it bthoi-ed Christ to tuffer, aiid to rise from tJie dead tJie 

tkirti rf«y.t Inevitably the disciples materialized it all, wreeted it 

all into a propheej-ing of bodily reappearance and miracle. So 

thej did alec with the words : " I go away and come agaiu to 

Tou ; a little while and ye see me not, and agaiu a little while 

and ye ehall see me." To these words the disciples gave a turn, 

ttey placed them in a oonnectiun, to suit the belief wliich alone 

after the death of Jesus could reassure and console them, — the 

iDlief in hie resuscitation and bvidity reappearance on earth, his 

tanporarj- re-withdrawal and aacension into heaven, to be 

followed soon by his trinmphal bodily advent to avenge and 

jiiige. It could not but be bo. /( behoved that in liis name i>Ju>uld 

k preacJted to all nations repentance unto remisiioH of situi ;t and only 

in this way could tlie work proceed. Only in this way, through 

jitofoniid misapprehension, through many crude hopes, under the 

ctimtilas of many illusions, could the method and secret, and 

eometlung of the temper and sweet reason and balance, of Jesus, 

\-i carried to the world. Only thus, through natural and national 

t^iroriieliff reinforcing their real love to their Master and zeal to 

propagate his doctrine, could the weak arm of the disciples acquire 

fioergy enough to hold aloft the word of life, set up the king- 

iotn of Christ, foimd the true Isiael, and bring in everlasting 

lig^tcouBuesB. But tho promises and predictions of their Master 

»ere nevertheless not what they fancied. He had said : " Ye 

"UU aeo me again, because I live and ye shall live ; if a man keep 

T saying he shall never see death. If ye love me and keep my 

wwds, 1 will come unto yon and make my abode with you."5 

'Hiey construed this into : " Ye shall see me, because I will come 

*piii and take you unto myself to reign in the kingdom of the 

wintB in the New Jerusalem."]! The genuine promise of Jesus 

"m the promise of a spiritual resun-ection ; anS this promise his 

*™ci()te8 misapprehended, misconnected, and obscured. Only 

'•I this Rupposition is even their own version of the history intelli- 

Fm, therefore, from inventing the idea of tlie resurrection as an 
^terual phenomenon accomplishuig itself in the behever's cun- 
"^^oUBness, the author of the Fourth Gospel transmits the idea, in- 
••^^ibut obscures it. He saved it for us, as in that second harvest 
*'* tlie toyia of Jesua he saves for us so much that is precious ; ho 
**'^fid it from being lost, and added it to the indications which 

Ltiuxdr. 25. 16; Matt. xx. 38. 10; Luke xiii. 82; 
"^Mniml; Lnkoilii. 33; John iii. 14, tmd xii. 32. 

82; John U. 4 (in thu Vat 

* J»lffl»lT. I'a; "fili. SI 

II John xW, 3 i Mntl. xi 


survive for us of the line truly taken by Jesus. But from his veiy 
mode of delivering it, we can see that he is not an artist inventing' 
it, but a reporter transmitting it imperfectly. 

Once more. Baur's theory of the consummately artistic Greek 
Christian inventing all things with a deep-laid design to damage 
Jewish Christianity, and to exalt Qirisf s divinity, is upset by the 
admission of things contmry to the alleged design. A free 
inventor, inventing with the express aim of doing damage to 
Jewish Christianity, would never have made Jesus say : Sdhor 
turn is of the Jews,* A free inventor, inventing to impair the 
credit of Peter and the original apostles, would niever have made 
Peter enter the sepulchre first, or throw himself into the sea, or 
receive the charge : Feed my slieepJt A free inventor, inventing 
from a zeal to establish the dogma of Christ's personal divinity, 
would never have made Jesus give the turn to his calling himself 
the Son of God which is given in the tenth chapter, when Jesus 
appeals to the authority of the Old Testament for those being 
called Gode to whom the word of God came, and asks why 
he, then, may not call himself the Son of God 1 1 " Why haggle 
about words and definitions in these matters!" he in fact asks ; 
" all you can say about them is approximate merely .'* But the 
whole question of the dogma of Christ's personal divinity is a 
question of words and definitions in the very sphere where Jesus 
pronounced such questions to be vain. All these things may be 
ingeniously explained by Baur now that they stand there in the 
Gospel, and challenge explanation from him ; but had his theory 
of the Gospel been true, they would never have stood there for 
him to explain. 

Finally, the theory of the consummate artist implies that the 
Fourth Gospel is a work proceeding from the imaginative intellect. 
But we deny (and here, too, the attentive reader will not, we think, 
find it hard to follow us), we deny that the Fourth Gospel has the 
character of a work proceeding from the imaginative intellect. 
It has the character of a work proceeding from the soul ; it is 
profoundly and solemnly religious. It is the work of a man who, 
we grant, like all the reporters of Jesus, underatood him but im- 
perfectly ; who gives us much which is not Jesus, much which 
comes from himself and his time, much which is addition and 
legend. But it is the work of a man who gives us tliis seriously 
and in good faith, and whose attitude of mind is not that of a 
freely inventing artist. He is too much subjugated by Jesus to feel 
free to deal with him in this fashion, as an instrument whom he 
might use for his own purposes and his own ideas. He does some- 
times attribute his own ideas to Jesus, but unconsciously, and we 

♦ John It. 22. f John xx. G ; xxi. 7, IG. % John x. 84—36. 


can perceive that he is doiog so ; if he liad attempted it con- 
sciounly all throvigli his Gospol, he would have produced aome- 
thnig quite different from what we have, and we shoidd easily 
bftvu fuiiad hini out. He would have given us a work whert- 
Jpsiu wonld have spoken all through aa he epeaks from the 
Eixtoenth Terse of the third chapter to the twenty-firet, a passage 
in which our tlicological lectnrer evidently lectures ub tlirough 
Ihfi month of Jegna. For his mind did not hold itself so easily 
•nd independently towards JeSTis — no serious Christiaa's did or 
could — aB to suffer him to play freely with Jesus, to throw himself, 
ninrt* or k«8, int« liis character, to use Iiim as & vehicle for aayiag. 
bat in character and with veiisimilitude, whatever the user wanted 
to rouvcy. Plato might do this with Socrates, but tlie author of 
(he Fourth Gonpel could not do it with Jesus. And the safe 
aunlof^to take, in consideiingwhat for our Evangelist in dealing 
with his subject could and did happen, is the analogy, not of Plato, 
btit of Paul. 

Th« old school of apologists was foud of urging that the Fourth 
Gospel could only have been the work of one of the original oliiof 
ftpfiHtU'R, it is so excellent. Baur has no difficulty in repljdng that 
in Paul we have a Christian who had probably never even seen 
Jt-aas, who was certainlynot oue of the original chief apostles, and 
who yet is at least equal to any of them, and whoso produc- 
tions BurpasB theirs. Why. therefore, may we not have, he argues, 
in the author of tlii: Fourth Gospel a second gifted outsider like 
I'auL but whoso name has remained unknown, because it wa« 
ewK-ntial for his purpose that it should do so, and that his work 
nhould point mysteriously to the Apostle John as its author? 
(Vrtainly we, for our part, feel no backwardness in admitting tliat 
ontflide of the primitive circle of the apostles there might arise 
Christians, like Paul, capable of making invahiable enntributions 
to the New Testament. But we think that none of them could 
havu done what Baur's theory Bupposes the author of tliu Fourth 
Gospel to have done ; St. Paul himself could not have done it, 
Tiio attitude of their minds towards Christianity and its founder 
was too earnest and reverential to allow it. When Paul quotes a 
logion like that exquisite logion quoted by him at ililetus, bat not 
found in any on« of our Evangelists, /( in more blessed to pipe than 
to rec^ire." ho is clearly quoting Jesus, as he says he is, not artjsti- 
cially inventing for Jesus, not original. His manner when he is 
briginal we know, and it is quite different : / try not mine own etlf 
(fifr I <im omuicioiL-i of nothing to mt/relf, ifH onj /mo( hereby jantijied), but 
fe (Ad/ tri*Ui rni in tftg LimL^ Imagine St. Paul sitting down to re- 
commend tho dogma of justification by faith, through means of a 



fancy Gospel composed of logia invented for Jesus, and Buiting 
bis cbaractev as /( i* inore hleited to give than to receivs soits bin cha- 
racter ! Paul coiild not have done it ; aiiy sound critic will feel 
that lie could not. So, too, with the author of the fourth 
GoBpel. Where the loyia are suited to the character of Jogna, 
they come from Jesus ; where they are not, there we have the 
theological lecturer merely expauding a theme given by Jvsus, 
developing or thinking that he develops it. But he remains him- 
self in doing so. To possess himself as a dramatist of the per- 
Bouago of .Fesus. to fix his setitimonts and his whole part for him, 
as would be impUed by inventing the fundamental themes iustend 
of merely developing them, ho would not have felt hiiuself free. 

The quGStit)n for us will be. then : Are there fundamental themes 
discoverable in the Fourth Gospel, and peculiar to it, which are 
quite according to the character of Jesus, and to his recognized 
habit of speech ? Because, if there are, our Evangelist has not 
invented thmu. but they must come from Jesus, Now that there 
are logia pecidiar to the Fourth Gospel, which entirely suit the 
character and the habit of Jesus, as these are known to ua from 
the Synoptics, we can hardly conceive any one denying ; except, 
indeed, he have a thesis to make good wliich constrsiuH him. 
Let us bring forward a few of them : " A propliet luis no honour in hi» 
own coutiiry. — Mt/ Ungdom if not of this world. — In mi/ Father'n AotMf 
are many inansiom. — The good thepherd givetk hit life for the n/teep, — 
Ot/ier inen lahound, and ye are entered into t/ieir labours. — The poorytr 
have always imtk yoit, but me ye have not always. — The seri-ant ahidetk 
not in the house for ever, the eon abidethfor ever. — A woman when sht i* in 
travail hath serrate because her fwu r is cotne ; but as soon as she is delivered 
oflht chiUlghereniemberethnomoreher anijHisli,forjoy that a man is born 
into the -world"' Except a man be, we say, in the clutches of some 
tyrannous theory, we can hardly conceive liis denying that thi-se 
logia are as jierfoctly and naturally in the character cif Jeeua as 
arc the most characteristic hgia found in the Sj-nopfics, such an- 
Render Ccesar's things to Cifsar. and GoiFs things to God; or. No nwi 
having pui hie luind to the plough, and looking back, is jit for the Iwj— ■ 
dom of God : or, Foxes liare holes, ofld the birds of t}ie air /iar« iiMte.^ 
but. the Son. of Man liatk not where to lay his }iead.\ 

Yet the Tiibingen professors and our Liberal newspapers mT»,t8lt 
Burely have something to go upon, when they declare that tfcko 
Jesus of tliB Fourth Gospel speaks quite differently from ti;»« 
J^suB of the Synoptics, and propound tlieir theory of the Gnod^sM 
artist inventing, -mth profoundly calculated art, his fancy Qoap^^s'- 
No doubt they have. , Jesus never can have made the long &».*>' 
nected harangues, or eiltered into the formal development of t»**